


Pas de Trois

by ClaraxBarton



Series: Pas de Trois [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, F/F, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-06-05 01:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6683860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a blind date goes horribly wrong, rising ballet star Trowa Barton finds his life taking an unexpected turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: This grew from a drabble request made by Chemicalchrush - so if this chapter sounds familiar, it’s because you probably read it as a drabble. This  _ does _ reflect a few changes, however.

A/N #2: Thanks to Ro for being an amazing beta, and to Maeve, for beta-reading and always being so encouraging.

 

Warnings: language, angst, smut

 

Pairings: 2x3xR, 3x5, 1x4, 1x6, DxC others will be added as necessary

 

_ Pas de Trois _

 

This was the absolute last time I would  _ ever _ go out on a blind date that my sister set up. And this time, unlike the five other times I had made the same promise to myself, I  _ meant  _ it. 

It was almost as if Cathy was  _ trying _ to find awful men to set me up with - first the school teacher who hated children, then the Marine who still hadn’t  _ actually _ come out to anyone except somehow my sister, the stock broker who thought it was sexy to talk about mutual funds while he tried to play footsie with me under the table, the food critic who spent our entire date sounding like a pompous asshole as he critiqued everything from the napkins to the overwhelming amount of fish on the menu of a restaurant with Ocean in its very name, and the actor who had been so self-absorbed that I wasn’t sure he ever bothered to even learn my name. 

Ever since my breakup with Wufei and, I could admit now, my awful coping method of fucking my way out of loneliness, dating had seemed like a complete waste of time. And while I appreciated Cathy, appreciated that she loved me and was only trying to make things better, I did  _ not _ appreciate the string of blind dates over the past month that had left me almost paranoid about dating at all, ever again.

Tonight - this date - was even worse.

It was worse, so much worse than all the others, because I could see why Cathy had thought to set me up with this guy in the first place. 

Treize Khushrenada. A man several years older than me, his features perfect and just a little cold, dark blond hair in artful disarray on his forehead and clothes immaculate and perfectly fitted to his tall, lean form. 

I’d heard of him, had seen his work, but I had never met him - had certainly never thought I would end up on a  _ date _ with him.

He was a choreographer, an absolutely brilliant one just back in New York after his great success with the Kirov last season, and I had dreamed of dancing with the companies he worked with since I was a child. Had dreamed of dancing for  _ him _ ever since I saw his  _ The Sleeping Beauty _ five years ago when I first started dancing with ABT. 

Treize was brilliant and he knew it.

I didn’t mind that - his arrogance wasn’t at all off-putting to me. Nor was the cool way his eyes assessed me as I walked up to him at the bar to introduce myself. I was used to eyes on me; I was used to eyes judging me.

What I wasn’t used to was someone  _ sneering _ at me after looking over my body. It made me feel like I should haul out a barre and start practicing. 

He was actually taller than me, which hardly ever happened, and he put his hand on the small of my back as he propelled me towards our waiting table. 

It felt like we were in the rehearsal hall, like he was moving me into the position he preferred, and I found it unexpectedly irritating. 

Wufei had been bossy as hell - in bed and out, and I hadn’t minded. I had loved it, probably too much based on some of the things he had said during our last fight - but he had never made me feel like  _ just _ a dancer, like a marionette that wasn’t quite up to snuff.

The ensuing conversation was as harsh, as judgemental, as the looks Treize was giving me.

He had merely lifted an eyebrow when I told him of my promotion from the  _ corps _ to soloist at ABT. Had asked why I wasn’t dancing Prince Ivan in the upcoming production of  _ The Firebird,  _ and had chuckled and shaken his head when I told him that I had been cast as Koschei. 

He had arched another eyebrow when I ordered a draft beer instead of a glass of wine or just water. 

When the waiter returned and started to list the specials, Treize waved him off.

“I’m not interested,” he said in a tone that would have had me looking down and praying I hadn’t made a mistake.

Not the waiter.

He cleared his throat, and when he next spoke he sounded almost combative.

“Of course not,” he said, “but maybe your date is?”

I looked up then, away from my menu and Treize’s glacial eyes, and into the unexpectedly handsome face of the man in front of us.

He was probably my age, with long, messy brown bangs and bright, sharp blue eyes that were almost violet. His features were strong, his lips wide, and his eyebrows were raised in question.

I shrugged one shoulder. Having someone intercede on my behalf was… unsettling.

The waiter nodded.

“Alright. No problem. I’ll give you two a few more minutes to look over the menus?”

“Thanks,” I said before Treize could speak up, and the waiter offered me the slightest of smirks before turning and walking away from our table. 

It was only then that I saw his long braid of hair, swinging across his back, the longest of the tendrils brushing over his ass.

We were silent as we looked over the menus again, and when the waiter returned he arched an eyebrow at me, and I swear it looked like he was asking me if I was okay.

I wish I had paid attention when he first walked up to our table and introduced himself before taking our drink orders.

“I will have the salmon,” Treize said, carelessly shoving the menu into the waiter’s face. 

He blinked and then narrowed his eyes before seeming to shake himself, and then turned to me.

“And you?” he asked, and offered me a smirk that did curious things to my pulse.

“The lamb.”

“The  _ lamb _ ? Don’t you have a performance tomorrow?” Treize seemed as horrified as he was shocked.

Ballet was one of those sports where people - audiences, choreographers, even other dancers - expected athletes who were capable of amazing feats of strength and stamina but still wanted you to look fragile and willowy. It was harder for women - I knew that. Cathy, older than me by five years, had suffered so much for her career that in the end she had given it up. But it wasn’t  _ easy  _ for men. I could still remember being eleven and having one of the older dancers teach me how to force myself to throw up a too-heavy meal. 

I was naturally on the thin side, despite my broad shoulders, and I had never had a problem burning more calories than I ate. I had never been one of those called into the artistic director’s office and given the nutrition speech that was really just code for ‘ _ stop eating and get better at starving yourself’ _ . I had never had a choreographer look at me with the same critical, disappointed eyes that Treize now regarded me with. 

And I had definitely never had a potential lover look at me like that. This had been one of Wufei’s favorite things to pick a fight over - except he was on the other side of it. He was convinced I was going to kill myself, that I was too thin and that I was the most unhealthy healthy person he had ever met. He had been right - he almost always was - but that didn’t make his interference any more welcome.

“The lamb is excellent,” the waiter said in a tight voice. “Killer yoghurt marinade.” He took the menu from my hand, the tips of our fingers brushing, and I looked up to see him wink at me.

I let go of the menu and took a long sip of my beer while he walked away, and I refused to watch him go.

Treize, however, was definitely watching me.

“How many calories  _ is _ the lamb?” he asked.

As if I knew. It wasn’t published in the menu and it wasn’t as if this place, where one meal was the same as what I paid for food for an entire week, could be bothered to care about anything other than flavor and presentation.

I shrugged, and he snorted and then chuckled, low and cruel.

“Of course. You’ll take care of it later.”

I flushed at his words, his knowing look. 

He took another sip of his wine, tilting the glass towards me in a mock toast that made my hands clench into fists.

“I’m sure you’ve heard that I will be choreographing  _ Le Spectre de la Rose _ for the fall gala.”

I had not, in fact, heard that, and I couldn’t hide the way my eyes widened.

It wasn’t a remarkable ballet - it was short, with only two roles, the perfect piece for a gala benefit for ABT’s wealthiest patrons - but it was one of the more notorious ones for male dancers. The Spectre was a great - if brief - role. It required incredible strength, and it was a role I had dreamed about ever since I saw Nureyev dance it on a staticky VHS recording of the 1979 performance for the Joffrey Ballet. As soon as the piece had been announced for the gala I had been working my ass off - showing up early to every practice, taking extra barre classes, working out more, doing my damnedest to make sure that any leap I did for  _ any _ choreography was as powerful and high as I could make it.

Treize laughed at my expression, and he leaned back in his chair and chuckled again.

“I danced it, you know, when I was your age.”

I did know. I had seen a recording of that too. Like most choreographers, Treize had started out as a dancer and only later moved into the fine art of abusing dancers into composition when he had grown too old or his body too brittle. 

“You were breathtaking,” I said, the truth. He wasn’t Nureyev - no one was. Hell, even Nureyev wasn’t Nijinsky. But Treize had still been very, very good.

It was the wrong thing to say, however, and Treize merely lifted an eyebrow and seemed bored.

I found myself wondering how the hell Cathy had even  _ arranged _ this date in the first place.

Her new position, teaching for the Joffrey Ballet, kept her in Chicago - which I had foolishly assumed was far enough away not to interfere in my life any more, until she had proven, with this string of blind dates, that that was absolutely not the case -  and meant that she was still in the ballet world. But Treize didn’t work with the Joffrey - he had famously quarrelled with three of their artistic directors and been banned from ever working there again. 

“What are you working on before that?” I asked, because the silence was growing oppressive and fiddling with the hem of the tablecloth was a ridiculous pastime for a twenty-five year old man on a date.

“A new piece with the City ballet. A little too  _ avant garde _ for my tastes,” he shrugged again and offered up a thin smirk, “but Lincoln Center is practically home for me.”

I don’t know if I had ever heard a more arrogant remark, delivered in such an offhand way. It startled me into a laugh, and Treize arched an eyebrow in question.

I shook my head and took another sip of beer. It was nearly empty, and I wondered if Treize would have a fit if I ordered another.

“Another?”

It was the waiter, appearing silently beside us and gesturing to the nearly-empty glass in my hand, as though my thoughts had summoned him.

“Yes. Thank you.”

The waiter smiled, and our fingers touched again as he took the glass.

Treize scowled.

I wondered if it was because of all of the calories in  _ two _ glasses of draft beer or if it was because he had seen the way the waiter and I had touched, had seen the way I flushed at the contact.

Doubtful. It had to be the calories.

The waiter returned with my beer only a moment later, despite how busy the restaurant was, and I had to restrain myself from taking it out of his hand, from trying to touch him again.

I was, after all, on a date with another man. A terrible date, to be sure, but still. 

“Your food will be right out,” the waiter assured us.

“Thank you,” I said, but Treize barely even acknowledged the existence of the other man.

“How do you know my sister?” I finally asked, so very done with the silence and the judgement, and unable to figure it out myself.

“I don’t. My cousin is Dorothy.”

Oh. Oh  _ shit _ .

I had had no idea the two of them were related.

Dorothy Catalonia, a principal dancer with the Joffrey and the woman my sister had married last year. A woman who, frankly, terrified me. She had joked, at the wedding, that I should move out to Chicago and dance with her. I had heard horror stories from other men who had danced with her, of her snide remarks and universal loathing for men. 

Treize hadn’t been at the wedding, but then, he didn’t strike me as being very family-orientated. And the more that I thought about it, I wasn’t even surprised that Dorothy hadn’t mentioned being related to him. I wondered if anyone, outside of Cathy, even knew. Dorothy was fiercely independent, and would likely castrate anyone who dared to suggest she had had a step up in the industry just by being related to Treize.

“I see.”

Treize gave me a thin smile.

“I’m not sure you do. Dorothy’s mother is my father’s favorite sister. And Dorothy is the reason why I am no longer welcome at the Joffrey. Or at the family home in Marseilles.”

I had to arch an eyebrow.

I was pretty sure Treize was no longer welcome at the Joffrey because he had stopped a dress rehearsal dead by calling the principal a fat cow and suggesting she should stop bending over for the artistic director because taking his soft dick up her ass was clearly ruining her technique. 

“Dorothy doesn’t like you?” I guessed, only managing to sound a little sympathetic.

“Dorothy doesn’t like  _ anyone _ . Except, perhaps, for your sister.”

“Perhaps.” I had seen them together a few times, before the wedding, and it always amazed me that Dorothy, such a notorious bitch, doted on Cathy and looked at her with complete adoration. 

“She’s a petty girl, and she has let childhood conflicts cloud her judgement,” Treize said with an irritated sigh and an unconcerned shrug. “It hardly matters.”

I was saved from further comment when the food arrived. The waiter laid it out and smirked with pride, as though he had made it himself.

“I had them put a little extra yoghurt on yours. Trust me, it really makes the meal,” he said to me, and winked again.

I found myself smiling back, amused and touched. The waiter was an amazing contrast to the cold egomaniac across the table from me.

I had had maybe five bites of the lamb - and it  _ was _ amazing - when Treize looked up from his salmon and gave me a considering look.

“Don’t eat too much of that.”

I glared and decided enough was enough, Le Spectre be damned. I lived on a shoestring - between my paltry salary from ABT, the cost of living in the city, and the fact that I  _ never _ indulged in food. This night was clearly a disaster, and if nothing else, I was going to enjoy the damn lamb.

I opened my mouth to say just that, but then I felt Treize’s warm, hard thigh against mine under the table.

“I hate fucking boys when they’re bloated,” Treize said, his voice as smooth and unconcerned as it had been when he ordered his glass of wine at the beginning of the meal.

My face drained of all color, and I looked away from his cold gaze.

It had happened before. Of course it had. When I had been an apprentice with the company, I had had several soloists and principals - even a few choreographers - offer me meals or gifts or  _ something _ for a rough, unsatisfying fuck. When I had danced with the Paris Ballet last year, there had even been a patron who felt that, since he was sponsoring my stay for the season, he had the right to treat me like his personal whore.

And this  _ was _ a date. There was no reason to think that sex would be out of the question. But also no reason for him to assume that it was a given, for him to act like this was all just a tedious prologue before he got to bend me over.

There was no way Cathy had done this to me, not on purpose. Not knowingly. Not after having to listen to her go on and on for the past month about how meaningless sex was going to leave me lonely and probably riddled with STDs. Not after the tangent she had gone on about syphilis ruining my ability to dance. 

Desperate to look at anything that wasn’t Treize, my gaze skittered across the restaurant and it met that of the waiter, just one table away, and I saw the fury in his eyes, the compression of his lips, the way his hand held a pitcher of water in a white-knuckled grip. I wondered what he was so pissed off about.

He walked over, determination and anger in every line of his body, and he very purposefully dumped the pitcher of water over Treize’s head.

I gaped.

Treize shouted and jumped up from his seat, water flying, his salmon drowned, his wine spilled, his clothes soaked.

He hadn’t seen the waiter approach, and when he turned to glare at him, the man adopted an expression of horror and apology.

“Sir. I am  _ so, so _ sorry. You are completely soaked.”

“I am well aware of that,” Treize bit out.

If he had been looking at  _ me _ like that, I would have known to back up my bag and start looking at the call boards to see if a company in Topeka was hiring. He looked ready to pick up a fork and start stabbing the man.

The waiter wiped at Treize’s shoulders ineffectually.

“You might want to visit the restroom,” he suggested, “and use a towel or something.”

“I will,” Treize growled. “And then I will speak to your manager.”

He stalked off, and it was only then, as everyone recoiled from Treize while he stormed past, that I realized how much attention had been focused on us.

“Sorry about that,” the waiter said to me once Treize was gone.

I arched an eyebrow.

“I mean. I’m sorry if you… liked him or whatever. But I seriously couldn’t listen to him talk to you like that anymore. I mean - if this is your thing? If you two are in some kind of… Does he always treat you like shit?”

I had to laugh, and then I shook my head.

“Blind date. I’ve never met him before tonight.”

The waiter closed his eyes and sighed in what looked like relief.

“Thank God. I was debating whether or not to do something, but-”

“You realize he’s going to get you fired for this.”

The waiter smirked, broad and unrepentant, and he went from being merely handsome to breathtaking.

“Well he can  _ try, _ but my uncle owns the place and he’s kind of a fan of mine.”

I found myself returning his smirk and the waiter leaned in close.

“Listen, ah… if you’re not interested, just say no and I’ll fuck off - because the last thing you need after this shitty night is another unwelcome advance, but… you know, if you need like, a palate cleanser or something, I’m here.”

I arched an eyebrow, completely at a loss. Was he seriously offering me a sorbet or something?

The waiter flushed and shoved his bangs out of his eyes.

“I mean, can I take you out? On a date? On a better one than  _ this _ one?”

He looked sincere and unsure and- and he was nothing like the guys I normally went for. He was a  _ waiter _ . He was my age. He was happy. He wasn’t an asshole.

“Yes,” I decided as I caught sight of a still furious, still wet Treize coming our way again.

“Yes. Yeah?” He grinned and he looked even younger, and his enthusiasm was infectious. He winked at me. “Okay. Cool. Let me go get Howie so he can pretend to be pissed at me, and ah, if you just hang out at the bar, my shift is over in an hour? Or-”

“That sounds good.”

He grinned again, gave me a jaunty wave, and sauntered past Treize.

There was another scene, where Treize spoke sharply to Howard, the owner of the restaurant as well as the head chef, while the waiter - whose name, I learned during the scene, was Duo - stood at his side with a bowed head and failed to look the least bit somber or regretful.

Duo apologized, mumbling the words only when Howard elbowed him sharply, and Treize gave an angry huff, said he refused to pay for such a disaster of a dinner, and grabbed my arm as he started to leave.

I jerked free, surprising both of us, when we reached the door.

His eyes narrowed.

“It was nice to meet you,” I lied, my voice as cold and empty as his had been for most of the night.

His lips twisted into a sneer that was already familiar. 

“I do hope you didn’t have your little heart set on dancing Le Spectre,” he murmured.

I had. Which he knew. Had no doubt seen in my eyes when he first brought it up. But I would be damned if I bent over for this asshole.

I tilted my chin up and glared. “I’d rather dance it for someone who matters,” I said.

The words, the forced bravado, were definitely a mistake, and I was sure they would have a negative effect on my career.

But then Treize chuckled, and he ran a possessive thumb over my lips. “Ah. So you do have a spine. I was beginning to wonder.”

He looked me over again, and he shrugged. “I generally like my boys smaller than you... But we’ll see how you do at the auditions.”

And then he was gone. 

I wasn’t sure what had just happened - and I really didn’t want to dwell on it, or him, anymore. So I went to the bar and I ordered another beer, even though I knew I would probably regret it later, when I was bent over my toilet and had bile burning my throat, and I waited for Duo.

And I hoped that he wasn’t going to be another thing I regretted.

 

-o-

  
  


Important Note: 

I have started a Patreon page under the name ClaraxBarton.

Becoming a Patron not only provides me with encouragement and financial support, but it gets YOU the chance to decide which fics I update next, exclusive one-shots, gift fics and personalized one shots -  as well as the chance to read my work days before it gets posted anywhere else.

I’m sure money is tight for everyone, but even just a few dollars a month makes a huge difference for me.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This grew from a drabble request made by chemicalchrush - so if this chapter sounds familiar, it’s because you probably read it as a drabble. 

A/N #2: Thanks to Ro for being an amazing beta, and to Maeve, for beta-reading and always being so encouraging.

A/N #3: I am in NO way an expert on ballet or music/orchestral life. I’m an expert on NONE of the careers mentioned - with the exception of Wufei’s, and even then I fully acknowledge he is way too young to have that job - so please just know I’m relying on the internet. If you have any suggestions or expertise to offer, I welcome it.

 

Warnings: language, angst, sexy times

 

Pairings: 2x3xR, 3x5, 1x4, 1x6, DxC, others will be added as necessary

 

_ Pas de Trois _

Chapter One

  
  


Almost as soon as I sat down at the bar, I wondered what the hell I was doing.

It was still early - only eight-thirty - and I didn’t have rehearsal until ten-thirty the next morning. I could probably call Heero, my roommate, and see what kind of trouble he planned on getting into tonight. Then again, there was every chance he had already  _ found _ it for the evening.

I sighed and glanced around the restaurant, looking for Duo.

He was at the table of some well-dressed couple, offering up his infectious smile, and I could see the way that the strangers responded to him.

“Can I get you anything?”

I turned to see the bartender looking at me.

“It’s on the house,” she added, and jerked her head in Duo’s direction, “or rather, it’s on Duo.”

I arched an eyebrow at that and considered. I had already had two beers with dinner, already had  _ dinner, _ and I could feel how heavy the food - even though I hadn’t managed to eat much of it - sat in my stomach. I was definitely going to be regretting tonight later.

“Just water,” I decided.

The bartender nodded, and started to put ice in a glass.

“So, you’re the newest rescue?” she asked with a grin.

“What?”

“Our Duo has a bit of a… hero complex? Takes in strays, rescues people - hell, he wouldn’t even  _ be _ here tonight if Dan hadn’t begged him to fill in so he could see his daughter’s recital.”

“Oh. I guess I am.” I accepted the glass of water from her, and couldn’t help but feel disappointed. I was not, it seemed, any more special to Duo than I had been to Treize.

“It was good of him to switch shifts,” I said when she lingered, looking expectant.

“Sure, except he’s a bartender, not a waiter. Anyway, let me know if you need anything else.”

She moved down to help another patron, and I sipped on my water and considered just how humiliating it was to become someone’s new  _ project _ .

Wufei, of course, had started fucking me with that same intention - though his goal had been to rescue me from self-loathing and what he viewed as an incredibly shallow and self-destructive lifestyle. At least Duo’s only goal had been to rescue me from a disaster of a blind date. 

I sighed, and fiddled with the battered case on my phone, still debating texting Heero.

“Heya.”

I turned at the sound of Duo’s voice and saw him smirking at me. There was an openness, an edge of uncertainty, to the confident expression that was as refreshing as it was intimidating.

“Hey,” I responded, and he smirked even more broadly.

He nodded at my water. “You can order a beer - or whatever you want, you know. I got you.”

I arched one eyebrow. “Trying to get me drunk?”

Duo flushed and shook his head. “No, not at all. I just… I mean, I asked you to wait for me and the least I can do is, you know…” he trailed off and sighed. “And you were just joking, anyway.”

“Yes, I was. But I’m fine with water.”

“Okay, well, if you change your mind, just tell Alice,” he gestured to the bartender, “and she’ll take care of you.”

“Thanks.”

He stood there for another minute, fussed with the tie he wore, adjusting the way it tucked into the black vest he had on over a white dress shirt. 

“I, uh… I should get back to work,” he said, with another slightly uncertain smirk.

“Probably,” I agreed. “Or your uncle might actually fire you.”

Duo grinned at that, chuckled a little, and then offered me a little wave before turning and walking away.

He was definitely unlike  _ any _ guy I had ever been with. It wasn’t just the fact that he was a waiter - or bartender - or the fact that he was my age. I had only ever been involved with men whose egos and self-assurance tugged at me with a nearly magnetic force. Duo… did not seem to fall into that category. He seemed, if anything, just as unsure of himself as I was of  _ myself _ .

I couldn’t see this working out - but then, it was only one date. Not even a  _ real _ date. Just a recovery date.

I comforted myself with that thought as I finished off the water and pulled up the choreographer’s notes on my phone from the latest rehearsal of  _ Sylvia _ .

I was dancing Orion, the villain, and the choreographer, Maria Une, had nothing but praise for my work thus far. Heero, cast against Une’s wishes as Eros, had earned yet another page of vitriolic notes from her. 

I wasn’t sure  _ why _ Une hated Heero so much - but even before auditions, she had made it clear she didn’t care for him. She had suggested, in front of the entire company, that Heero would be best suited to play a peasant -  _ if _ he had to appear onstage at all.

Heero had flushed, but remained silent, glaring at his own reflection in the studio mirror as he stretched. 

As inexplicable as her hatred for Heero was Une’s obsession with  _ me _ . It had started three years ago, when I had moved out of the apprentice ranks and into the  _ corps, _ and she had insisted on casting me in roles that should have gone to soloists. There had been grumbling from other dancers -  and even now that I was a soloist, there were plenty of dancers who thought the roles both Heero and I danced should have gone to principals instead of the company’s newest soloists. 

But grumbling and rumors and snide remarks were just part of company life, the background noise for any dancer. 

When I had first been accepted into ABT’s apprentice program, my sister had given me two pieces of advice: don’t piss off the artistic director had been the first, and while I had come close to failing at that, I had managed to generally stay on the good side of management since day one, even though it had been difficult at times. The second piece of advice had been much easier to follow. Cathy had told me that making friends with fellow dancers was an awful idea - but that, as awful as it was, there was no one else in the world who would understand me as well as a fellow dancer. So, she had suggested, make a friend who is either such an incredible dancer that you won’t mind seeing him cast in roles you want, or pick someone who is so awful you’ll never have to be jealous of them.

Heero, as it happened, was an incredible dancer. I had never seen anyone quite as powerful as him, quite as self-confident and sure of himself even from our first day as apprentices. I still minded when he was cast in roles I wanted - but I could also stand in the wings and watch him perform with more awe than jealousy. I was genuinely happy for him when he had been cast as Eros, a role I had always wanted, in  _ Sylvia _ . I knew he would bring something incredible to the role, even if Une had her doubts. And Heero, likewise, had started going in early to the studio to help me practice my jumps for the upcoming  _ Le Spectre _ auditions. I knew he wanted Le Spectre for himself, everyone did. But he also seemed to have made it his personal mission to make sure that if  _ he _ didn’t dance it, I did.

Wufei hadn’t understood our friendship - had insisted that I would be better off spending as much time away from other dancers as possible - and I knew that, to outsiders, the complicated web of friends and enemies that made up dance was difficult to untangle.

“I am so,  _ so _ sorry.”

I was pulled out of my thoughts by the sound of Duo’s voice. I looked at the time on my phone - almost ten - and then at his very apologetic face.

“I can’t believe you waited, and I- I’m really sorry. It was just one thing, and-” He made a gesture with his hand, and then seemed to give up in the middle of it and dropped his arm back to his side. He let out an exasperated sigh that ruffled his unruly bangs, and I couldn’t help but smirk.

He wasn’t overflowing with self-confidence, but he wasn’t an asshole. He was  _ nice _ . It had been a long time since I had been involved with anyone like that.

“It’s not a big deal,” I assured him.

He had changed - removing the dress shirt, vest and tie - and was now sporting a faded Tom Waits t-shirt that looked like it had seen better decades. It was both at odds with his black trousers and dress shoes, and somehow, in its casualness, very sexy.

He was also holding a brown paper bag in one hand and I looked at it pointedly.

“Oh. I, ah, I thought maybe we could walk down to Bryant Park and have dessert?” He sounded hopeful, and he gave me a winning smile.

“That depends. What kind of dessert?”

He chuckled and opened the bag.

“I didn’t know what you might want so it’s a little of everything - raspberry beignets, coconut creme pie, bartlett pear cake and tiramisu.”

It was a bag of reasons to spend the night crouched over the toilet, and I already had  _ enough _ reasons to do so. 

Still, I had never been invited to sit in the park at night and share a bag of pilfered desserts before.

“You might want to grab a few forks,” I suggested, and he smirked.

“Well, I was  _ planning _ on feeding you by hand, but if you insist…” He hopped up onto the bar and stretched over it to grab something behind the counter. He almost lost his balance, and I stepped up to put a hand on his thigh and keep him in place. 

When he sat back up, his face was slightly red but he was grinning triumphantly and brandishing two forks. He looked down at my hand on his thigh and then winked at me.

I rolled my eyes and stepped away.

“Later, Alice!” Duo waved over his shoulder and gestured for me to lead the way from the restaurant.

We were outside, falling into step side by side in the cool night air, when his phone started to ring.

He groaned and dug into his pocket to pull it out.

“Shit. She’s texted me like twelve times. Sorry, I need to answer this.” He accepted the call and held the phone up to his ear. “Rey? Yeah, sorry, I had my phone- you locked yourself out  _ again _ ? Yeah, I just got off work, but I’m kinda…” he trailed off, and looked over at me with a grin, “I’m kinda in the middle of something. Can you get the spare from Hilde? She’s not- of course she’s not.” Duo gave a frustrated sigh. “Yeah, no, no I- I’m on my way, but I just left the restaurant so it’s going to be like twenty minutes. Okay, yeah, I’ll take a cab. I’m hailing one  _ right now _ . And I’m hanging up now, Rey. I’ll be there soon.”

Duo ended the call, and turned to me with an apologetic expression.

“I am so,  _ so _ sorry. I- fuck. I don’t even know your name.”

I had to smirk. I had been wondering when he would ask.

“Trowa.”

“And I’m Duo - which you probably knew because Howie said it earlier.” He held out his hand, and I chuckled but shook it. His hand was warm, the skin a little rough, and I shivered at the feel of him.

He noticed, and as he pulled away, his fingers brushed over my palm in a move that  _ had _ to be calculated.

“Listen, my roommate locked herself out when she went grocery shopping and I need to go let her in. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to take a raincheck?” He hefted the bag of desserts. 

I shrugged. I should just call it a night - chalk this up as a truly regrettable evening, having made an ass of myself in front of one of the most important choreographers in the world and  _ almost _ going on an immediate rebound date with a  _ waiter _ .

But there was something about Duo - something about the thought of just going back to my apartment and locking myself into the bathroom - that made me pause.

“I’m sure dessert in the park would have been nice,” I found myself saying, “but I’ve always wanted to have dessert in the back of a cab.”

He frowned, taking a moment to follow me, and then his face transformed. “Yeah? Okay, cool. We’ll probably have to cut the driver in on some of this though…” he added with a wink, before raising his arm to hail a cab.

“Just don’t offer up the beignets,” I said.

He snorted. “As if I’m even going to share them with  _ you _ .”

 

-o-

I was convinced we were going to die, as the cab driver tried to eat the pear cake and weave through traffic on the Williamsburg Bridge at the same time. More than once, Duo and I reached out to steady one another and, as much as it made me feel like a horny teenager, I liked the way his touch made my skin tingle.

I wasn’t surprised he lived in Brooklyn - though I wasn’t looking forward to the train ride back to my own apartment in Murray Hill. If I didn’t time things correctly, it would take more than an hour.

The cab stopped on an unassuming street just off the East River, the view obscured by trees and darkness, and Duo paid the driver and gave him the rest of the dessert bag - after liberating the beignets.

“So, ah, how was your first  _ pret à partir _ ?” he asked with a grin.

I arched my eyebrow at the French, wondering if he was trying to be pretentious. If it had been Treize - if it had been  _ anyone _ I knew - I would have assumed he was trying to impress or intimidate me. But Duo… 

I shrugged.  _ “C'était pas mal.” _

He snorted a laugh. “Alright, you’re playing it cool. But I know you’re going to be telling your grandkids about the time a devastatingly handsome guy took you on a dessert date in the back of a cab.”

I nodded in solemn agreement. “It’ll be part of my lecture warning them against the evils of backseat dating.”

Duo laughed again. He gestured towards the three-story brick building in front of us.

“I need to let Rey in but, ah… you could come up and hang out? Or, there’s a bar down the block - Achilles’ Heel? Or…?”

I shrugged, not ready to commit to anything yet, and he nodded in acceptance.

I followed him into the building, my eyes drawn to the outline of his ass when he took the steps two at a time in front of me.

And then I had a sudden, very disconcerting realization.

“Duo.”

He stopped on a landing and looked back at me, my tone making him a little wary.

“Trowa?”

“You’re not a bottom, are you?” Maybe the hair should have been a give-away - but then, Wufei would have probably beaten the shit out of anyone who suggested that  _ his _ hair was an indicator for what position he preferred.

Duo flushed. “I, uh…”

“I don’t top,” I continued, having found myself in the awkward position, more than a few times, of being naked and waiting to be fucked only to have my partner beg me to please top them instead. 

If anything, Duo’s face grew even more red and I sighed. Perfect. 

“Wait, wait, that’s not-” Duo reached out and grabbed my hand when I started to turn. 

“I wasn’t hesitating because of that. I don’t mind topping - I do both- I  _ like _ both,” he said in a rush. “I just, I didn’t think we were doing  _ that _ tonight. I, uh, I didn’t want to be presumptuous or anything.”

I gave him an incredulous look. “You really just wanted to hang out?”

He nodded, and I realized he was still holding my hand when he used it to pull me closer.

“I mean,” he smirked, “I was sort of hoping we’d kiss and, you know, other things.”

I found myself smirking back at him, and I turned my hand in his grasp so that our palms fitted together.

“Other things?”

He nodded and leaned towards me. I thought he was going for a kiss, but instead he angled his head and his lips brushed against my left earlobe. 

“Trade hair care secrets.” He somehow managed to make it sound dirty - but maybe it was just the way his lips touched my sensitive skin or the way his breath teased me. 

I shivered, and he stepped away and smirked again, the expression more confident than I had previously seen, and my entire body seemed to hum in satisfaction at just that look.

“Anyway,” he gave our joined hands a tug, “let’s go let Rey in and-”

He stopped talking at the same moment he came to a halt at the top of the stairs. In front of him was a closed door.

He frowned, head cocked to one side. 

“This is weird…” He dropped my hand and reached into his pocket to pull out his keys.

I looked down the hall, but it was empty, as was the stairwell below us.

Duo opened the door to reveal a dim apartment and swore.

“Oh, no fucking  _ way _ .” 

His words were almost completely drowned out by the instant and overwhelming burst of noise.

“Suprise!”

“Happy Birthday!”

The lights in the apartment suddenly flared to life, revealing dozens of people, a huge banner proclaiming ‘ _ Happy 25th Birthday, Duo!’ _ , streamers and, I couldn’t help but notice, an incredibly expensive-looking apartment.

Someone - an attractive woman with long, honey blonde hair and bright blue eyes - stepped forward and pulled Duo into the group.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, Rey!” Duo told her, but she just laughed and shoved a pointed paper birthday hat onto his head.

She cleared her throat, gestured for quiet and then, imitating a  _ maestro _ , raised her hands.

“Happy Birthday-”

Everyone chimed in, and Duo stood there, shoulders hunched, face red, while everyone else laughed their way through the song.

He caught my eye and mouthed an apology. 

I was torn between amusement at his expense and shared irritation. Surprise birthday parties were, in my experience, hardly ever a good thing. 

As they neared the end of the song, someone produced a ridiculously large birthday cake, covered in  _ way _ more than twenty-five candles.

“-and many more!”

Duo drew in a deep breath, glared at everyone, and blew out the candles. He missed a few - I was guessing there were upwards of fifty on the cake - and had to go back for them.

Once the candles were finally extinguished, everyone cheered and Duo accepted hugs and back slaps from the people closest to him.

It was only then, as Duo was engulfed by his friends, that the blonde haired woman seemed to notice me leaning against the open door.

She arched an eyebrow, and I arched one of mine in return.

“I’m Relena,” she said, coming close and holding out a hand.

“Trowa.” I shook her hand, a little surprised by how firm her grip was and how calloused her fingers were. “I guess you found your keys?”

She flushed a little and offered me a smug little smile. 

“And I guess  _ you _ were what Duo was in the middle of?” Her voice was a taunt, and I couldn’t decide if she was teasing me or if she was jealous.

I shrugged and nodded towards the party. “I didn’t realize it was his birthday.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s because Duo would rather no one  _ ever _ knows it’s his birthday.”

“So why the party, then? If it’s not what he wants?”

She pursed her lips, and I could see her sizing me up. She reminded me, in that moment, a little of Dorothy.

She gestured towards the apartment. “Come in and let me get you a drink.”

I didn’t push her on the questions she had dodged, but instead I followed her past the crowd still surrounding Duo - though some had now broken away to play music on what looked suspiciously like professional mixing gear - and deeper into the apartment.

It was a large and open concept - the living, dining and kitchen areas all connected and open in one huge room with glowing wooden floors, high ceilings and exposed brick walls. I was pretty sure this apartment would be out of the price range of several of the  _ principals _ at ABT, and I knew it was a distant dream on  _ my _ salary. 

The kitchen was separated from the rest of the room by a long galley counter topped with butcher’s block. I couldn’t help but notice that the kitchen was decked out with industrial kitchen equipment, including a sink that looked larger than the shower in my apartment.

How the hell, I wondered, did a waiter -  _ bartender -  _ afford a place like this?

Relena opened the enormous stainless steel refrigerator, and paused to look over her shoulder at me.

“What would you like? We’ve got Stella, Heineken and PBR.”

I was a little surprised that, with an apartment like this - and judging by the fashion sense of the crowd - Relena hadn’t rattled off a list of local Brooklyn beers.

She caught my look and waved a hand.

“Oh, if you want craft beer or whatever the guys have a cooler on the deck - that crap is  _ not _ going in my fridge.”

“I’ll have a Stella,” I said after chuckling, and she smirked as she pulled two out. She closed the fridge with her foot and removed the caps before passing one to me.

“So, how do you know Duo?” she asked after taking a sip.

“He saved me from a horrible date.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“ _ That _ sounds like quite the story. When did-  _ shit _ .”

She looked past my shoulder and I followed her gaze.  A blond haired man who might as well be the poster-boy for Brooklyn hipsters, with his impressive mustache, rolled-up plaid shirt, ornamental suspenders, impossibly tight skinny jeans paired with excessively large boots and thick-framed glasses, was looking back at us.

“Friend of yours?” I didn’t bother to keep my amusement and judgement from my voice.

Relena gave me a dark look.

“Ex.” She held up a hand, as if to forestall any commentary from me. “I know.  _ I know _ . But it was a dark time and his cock is almost as big as his stupid boots, so it was fun when we were naked.”

“And when you weren’t?”

She shuddered. “And when we weren’t, it was all I could do not to strangle him with one of his damned plaid bowties.”

I looked back, and sure enough, he was wearing a bowtie that looked to be made out of  _ exactly _ the same plaid as his shirt.

“His cock had to be amazing,” I mused.

She sighed. “It was. Oh, God it  _ was _ .”

“Why did you invite him to the party? Or is he a friend of Duo’s?”

She snorted. “No. He and Duo do  _ not _ get along. And I didn’t invite him. He must have heard from someone else or something. Fuck. He’s coming over here.”

“So tell him to go away.”

“Because I haven’t already tried that  _ every _ time I see him?” She sighed again and shook her head. “I hate boys.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“Stupid boys. Which may or may not include you - I’m withholding judgement for now.”

“You’re too kind.”

The ex was walking towards us, and Relena made a frustrated sound and took my beer from my hand just as I raised it to my lips.

“I’m really sorry about this,” she said, right before she put one hand on the back of my neck and pulled my head down.

Our lips met in a sloppy, wet kiss that nevertheless had me staring at her with wide eyes.

She kept her mouth closed, but her lips were incredibly soft against mine and I found myself wrapping my arms around her waist out of reflex and, I hated to admit, a desire for more contact with her slim body. I let my eyes slide closed, and drew in a deep breath. She smelled like lemons and, weirdly, pine. Almost like a resin box.

Her fingers were playing with the short hairs at the nape of my neck, tickling my skin in an intimate way that made me shiver and pull her closer.

I wasn’t sure how long we kissed, but eventually she pulled away with a relieved sigh.

“ _ Thank you _ . I think he got the memo.”

I cleared my throat and took a sip of my beer in an effort to wash away the taste and feel of her. 

“Good. Happy to help.”

She smirked at me and took a sip of her own beer.

“Well, Duo saved  _ you _ from an awful date, you saved  _ me _ \- so I guess it’s my turn to save him.” She nodded towards the group of people still clustered around Duo.

I had expected him to look on edge - expected to see his smile looking strained or his body tense.

But, as he danced with some woman with short, dark hair and a body almost entirely without curves, I could see he was actually having a good time. 

“I’m not sure he needs rescuing.”

She gave me another smug smile, and I saluted her with my beer. 

I wondered if that was her go-to expression - much like Duo seemed to have his smirk that fell somewhere between cocky and rueful.

“Not yet,” she agreed. “Give it another twenty minutes though, and he’ll want to escape to the roof and smoke a joint.” She gave me a look. “You smoke?”

I shrugged. I didn’t, not really, but it seemed rude to refuse and, after everything else I had put in my body tonight, a little pot wasn’t going to make that much of a difference.

“Good. Let’s go mingle - I promise not everyone is an intolerable hipster - and then we can escape and you can get on with your date.”

 

-o-

 

It was closer to an hour.

Relena had introduced me to a few people, and I allowed myself to be dragged into dancing with the same girl that Duo had danced with earlier - Hilde - while Duo and Relena danced together. I danced with a few other people - including Duo for a brief stint before he was pulled away. After that, I stayed near the fringe of the party, drifting between groups of people alternately discussing Bernie Sanders, some hideous new housing development down the block, artisanal cheeses and, beckoning to me like a lighthouse, the new  _ maestro _ at the New York Metropolitan Opera.

I approached that group - two women and one golden haired man - with relief. I didn’t give a damn about cheese, housing or politics, but music - music I could talk about.

The man, he introduced himself to me with a bright smile as Quatre, was arguing that the Opera should have stuck with their old  _ maestro _ , that putting her out to pasture had been a mistake. The two women, who didn’t bother to introduce themselves, were arguing that the Opera, like  _ every _ classical institution in town, needed new blood.

It was a lively debate, and while I didn’t have much to offer, I enjoyed listening to them argue.

Eventually, Relena approached us with a smirk on her face and a languor to her movements that told me she had probably had a few more beers since I had kissed her. 

She put one hand on my shoulder in a gesture that struck me as more than merely friendly, and I had to  wonder just what the hell was wrong with me.

“I’m going to steal him now, Quatre,” Relena said, and tugged at my shoulder. 

Quatre started to protest.

“He’s the birthday boy’s date,” Relena laughed.

“Oh.” Quatre flushed and offered me a sheepish grin. “Lucky Duo.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that, so I got up and followed Relena through the apartment and towards a set of stairs.

I followed her, and at the top of the flight she opened a door onto a rooftop deck that had an incredible view of the East River and Manhattan.

How much money did these people  _ have _ ?

I would never, even if I saved up all of my paychecks and said to hell with paying off my student loans, be able to afford a place like this.

The rooftop was illuminated by strings of lights, and I could see that there were plants  _ everywhere _ . It looked like there was an herb garden and a vegetable garden amidst all of the other potted plants. To one side, there was a giant, round nest of pillows.

Inside the nest was Duo, laying on his back with his hands under his head.

“Look who I found.” Relena tugged me over, and Duo turned his head to grin at us.

“Hey,” he greeted me. “I’m sorry - I, uh, kind of abandoned you.”

I waved away the apology. Over the last hour, Duo had caught my eye a few times from across the room and smirked, and, while he hadn’t been able to break away and talk to me, I at least appreciated the fact that he was  _ thinking _ about me.

Duo adjusted himself on the nest and Relena flopped down beside him, using his stomach as a pillow.

I arched my eyebrow at that and wondered if I should go - wondered just what the hell kind of dynamic these two had.

But Duo looked up at me, back to being uncertain and hopeful, and I crawled onto the nest beside him. 

He grinned and wiggled to reach into his pocket.

He pulled out a joint and a lighter.

“Do you…?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He grinned again and lit it up, taking a long drag before passing it to me.

“You know, as far as surprise birthday parties that I expressly asked you  _ not _ to throw go, this wasn’t so bad, Rey,” Duo said after he exhaled.

Relena took the joint from me.

“Better than the one with the strippers?” she asked in a casual voice that made me laugh, and then cough.

Duo chuckled as well, and helpfully pounded my back.

“ _ Much _ better than the one with the strippers.”

We laid there in silence, smoking the joint, each of us lost inour own thoughts.

This was like  _ none _ of the parties I went to with members of the company. There hadn’t been any dramatic fights - no unanticipated appearances by choreographers or members of management that put everyone on edge - no cocaine.  _ Nothing _ that didn’t seem normal and relaxed and… I found myself feeling jealous. Found myself wishing my life was more like this. Even listening to hipsters argue about cheese was a reprieve from comforting a dancer who had just been told she would never be good enough to be a principal, no matter how much weight she lost.

Relena finished off the joint and sighed.

“I should probably go down and make sure everyone’s alive and drop hints about moving things over to Achilles’ Heel.”

She sat up and climbed over both of us, long legs brushing over mine in a way that, between the pot and our earlier interactions, certainly felt flirtatious.

“You coming back?” Duo asked. He rolled over, closer to me, and rested his chin on my shoulder. 

It felt entirely natural for me to adjust, moving my arm to give him space and draping it over his back.

Relena looked between us.

“Do you want me to?”

Duo looked up at me, bottom lip between his teeth and an expression that I could only define as pleading in his eyes.

Well, hell.

This was definitely  _ not _ how I had seen this night turning out.

“I don’t mind,” I said, and Duo grinned and relaxed against me.

“Alright, see you boys soon,” Relena said, and winked.

“So, uh, I feel the need to say that this  _ wasn’t _ what I had planned when I asked you to hang out,” Duo said, still leaning against me.

I ran my fingers through his hair, and he arched into my touch.

“This wasn’t on the list of  _ other things _ ?” I asked.

He chuckled.

“I mean… Rey  _ does _ have amazing hair.”

 

-o-

 

Important Note: 

I have started a Patreon page under the name ClaraxBarton.

Becoming a Patron not only provides me with encouragement and financial support, but it gives YOU the chance to decide which fics I update next, exclusive one-shots, gift fics and personalized one-shots -  as well as the chance to read my work days before it gets posted anywhere else.

I’m sure money is tight for everyone, but even just a few dollars a month makes a huge difference for me.

 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This grew from a drabble request made by chemicalchrush.

A/N #2: Thanks to Ro for being an amazing beta, and to Maeve, for beta-reading and always being so encouraging.

A/N #3: I am in NO way an expert on ballet or music/orchestral life. I’m an expert on NONE of the careers mentioned - with the exception of Wufei’s, and even then I fully acknowledge he is way too young to have that job - so please just know I’m relying on the internet. If you have any suggestions or expertise to offer, I welcome it.

 

Warnings: language, angst, sexy times

 

Pairings: 2x3xR, 3x5, 1x4, 1x6, DxC others will be added as necessary

 

_ Pas de Trois _

Chapter Two

 

I was almost late.

My first ballet class, at the tender age of three, had started in tears when, after having gotten lost as I wandered down the long hallway of classrooms searching for mine on my own, I finally stepped into the right room and was immediately yelled at by the instructor, Miss Patty. 

The rest of my memory of that first class was faint - but it involved Cathy hugging me, Cathy, all of eight, yelling at Miss Patty, and ice cream. 

Our parents had been performing that night - as they had almost every night of our childhoods - and had decided that ballet classes were the best way to keep us occupied while they were at rehearsals or performances. When they came home from their show that evening and sent the babysitter on her way, Cathy and I told them what had happened. 

Whereas Cathy had comforted me and called Miss Patty a ‘mean old lady’, our parents sat down and sighed. They told Cathy she was the perfect big sister for trying to protect me and comfort me, but then said that if we really wanted to be dancers we needed to learn  _ now _ that we could never be late. Ever. 

Early is on time, my father had said in his stern voice, and on time is late. 

They sent me to bed, and the next day my father walked me to class - missing his own rehearsal to do so - and stood behind me while I apologized to Miss Patty for wasting her time and everyone else’s.

Miss Patty, who had been awestruck to be standing in front of my father, one of the most respected principal dancers with the New York City Ballet, had only been able to nod dumbly and tell me to take my place at the back of the class.

It had been more than twenty years since I had been late to a ballet class - I had made it a habit to arrive at least half an hour early ever since I started my apprenticeship with ABT - until today.

Today, I skidded to a halt and yanked the door to the rehearsal room open at ten-twenty and met the stares of the entire company.

I swallowed hard and adjusted the strap of my duffel bag over my shoulder, drew in a deep breath, and walked into the room.

Class wasn’t due to start for another ten minutes, so, while nearly everyone was present, only a handful of people were actually in their positions on the floor.

Most of the company was still arranged along the sidelines, pulling on sweaters or pinning up their hair or wrapping ankles and knees.

Heero, of course, was already in his spot on the floor. 

Ballet class was, like everything else in the company, incredibly hierarchical. 

While the apprentices had their own classes, some were invited to attend the company class as well, and they hugged the back wall as if intent on disappearing into it.

_ Corps _ members took up positions in front of them, us soloists used the barres in front of  _ them, _ and the company principals took up positions directly in front of the mirrors. 

Heero had, on the first day of rehearsal after our promotion to soloists, stepped up and claimed a spot close to one of the windows and several rows up from where we had stood last year.

I had been terrified to move up - had actually spent that first class still in my same position as when I had been part of the  _ corps _ \- but the next day I had joined him and we had stood side by side every day since.

Today, I had to hurriedly pull on my shoes and shove a headband on my head to keep my hair off my face - a note I had received too many times as an apprentice to risk getting again.

Heero arched an eyebrow at me.

“You didn’t come home last night,” he said, voice low enough that even Ralph and Iria, the soloists closest to us, couldn’t hear him.

“Don’t tell me you waited up?” 

Heero rolled his eyes. “I had other things to occupy myself with.”

“Other things or other people?” I asked, and cast a significant look at the ballet master at the front of the room.

Zechs Merquise, one of ABT’s most popular principals, had been given the position of ballet master this season as he transitioned from dancer to choreographer. As ballet master, he led the morning classes, his pale blue eyes critical and omniscient as they took in our stretches, our barre work and our center work. 

He was choreographing  _ Le Corsaire _ this season, and with casting set to go up at the end of the week, this class - like all the ones before it this month - felt like an audition.

Heero followed my gaze to Zechs and then looked away with a shrug, refusing to comment.

I had to roll my eyes as I straightened up beside him. I had a few inches on Heero, which irked him to no end, and I didn’t mind using my height advantage to annoy him on occasion. 

I leaned close.

“I thought you weren’t going to sleep with him anymore.”

“And I thought  _ you _ were done with Wufei,” Heero retorted.

I arched an eyebrow at that. As far as I knew, I  _ was _ done with Wufei.

“He came by last night looking for you.”

I could only stare, and Heero offered me a superior little smile. 

Before I could question him further, Zechs called our attention to the front.

I had to shove all extraneous thoughts to the back of my mind and focus. Even though the class started with stretches at the barre before we moved on to combinations and partner work in the center, every minute of the class mattered.

And not just because Zechs was watching.

The barre was home, as Cathy said - as our parents had said when I was finally tall enough to reach the one they had installed in the living room of our apartment growing up - and when you stepped up to the barre and rested your hand on it, you were shutting out everything else in the world. 

Nothing else mattered but the barre, your body and the music. 

It was one of the things that I loved most about ballet, getting lost in the movements, the positions. Feeling my body stretch and curve. The music, even though it was a single pianist, moving through me and informing my gestures.

As difficult and painful as ballet was, I loved it. 

I could always trust the barre to be there, and I could always forget about everything else when I stepped up to it. 

I could put Wufei out of my head - I could even forget about almost being late to class because I had woken up on a Brooklyn rooftop only an hour ago, sandwiched between two virtual strangers. I could even forget about Treize and his pointed comments, his disapproving gaze.

Of course, I could only forget and ignore everything for so long. Class came to an end at noon, and after we bowed our thanks to Zechs he departed the room and the company dissolved into cliques as everyone went through cool-down stretches.

“So where were you?” Heero asked.

“Brooklyn,” I said.

Heero arched an eyebrow. “I thought you had a date with Treize.”

“I did. It was awful.”

“Awful enough that you decided not to come in early and work on your jetes?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry about that. I overslept. I-” I hesitated, aware that what I was about to say would sound both ridiculous and lame.

“You… murdered Treize and spent the night hacking up his body?” Heero guessed.

I glared at him. “No. I went to a birthday party in Brooklyn.”

“Who do we know that lives in Brooklyn?”

“No one. He’s- he’s a bartender, and I met him last night.”

“And went home with him after the awful date with Treize? I thought you  _ weren’t _ sleeping your way through the city anymore.”

“And I thought you weren’t going to focus on berating  _ me _ for my personal mistakes as a way to ignore your  _ own _ colossal lack of judgement when it comes to Zechs,” I bit out.

“At least we can disappoint each other equally,” he said, and I had to laugh at that.

Heero offered me a slight smirk and a hand up as I finished stretching. We hefted our bags and left the room.

We headed up two flights to another rehearsal studio, where we would work on  _ Sylvia _ for the next two hours before taking a lunch break and then returning to the rehearsal hall for an hour to touch up choreography for tonight’s seven-thirty performance of  _ The Firebird _ .

Because we were about to face two hours with Une, I decided to give Heero something besides her utter loathing to think about.

I sighed. “I didn’t sleep with him.”

He gave me a very pointed look, eyes roving over my entire body, taking in the clothes that I had worn to  _ yesterday’s _ class and rehearsals. I had barely had time to stop by our apartment in Murray Hill to grab my bag on my way in from Brooklyn that morning, and I definitely hadn’t had the time to find clean clothes or shower.

“I slept  _ over _ ,” I amended, “but I didn’t fuck him. Or her.”

“Or  _ her _ ?” he asked incredulously, a little too loudly, and we both looked around and then stepped aside to allow a few dancers to walk by. “What kind of birthday party was this?”

I rolled my eyes. “It was Duo’s birthday - a surprise party that his roommate, Relena, threw.”

“And we don’t know either of them.”

“No. Duo was a waiter at the restaurant last night. He saved me from Treize.”

“So you went to his  _ birthday _ party in return.” The way Heero said it made it crystal clear that he was adding this to his mental list of ‘Reasons Why Trowa Will Die Alone of Syphilis’ - a list I was sure he and Cathy had started together.

“Yes,” I said, leaving out the desserts in the back of a cab. “We hung out and it got late, and-” I also left out the part where Duo and I fell asleep on the rooftop while waiting for Relena to kick everyone else out of their apartment “-I stayed the night. I woke up late-” I decided not to tell him about waking up on the roof, with Duo draped over me, legs tangled in mine and head tucked under my chin, or Relena, one arm around my waist as she spooned against my back. I also didn’t want to tell him about extricating myself from them, crawling out of the pillow nest and stealthily making my escape. Even though Heero didn’t know either of them, I was pretty sure he would judge me for it. “And then I came here.”

Heero gave me a look. He knew I was leaving out a  _ lot _ , but he also knew not to press me for more details.

“Wufei wanted to know how you were doing.”

Heero said it in a low voice, and I frowned.

“Wait- he came over to see  _ you _ and ask about  _ me _ ?”

Heero nodded. 

“He could have just called.”

“Yes, because being a passive-aggressive asshole and manipulator is in no way his MO,” Heero pointed out.

That was fair, but part of me was absurdly touched by the idea that he had gone to see Heero behind my back.

“What did you tell him?”

Heero didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “I told him that you were on a date with a world-renown choreographer who would probably sweep you away to go back to Paris or the Bolshoi.”

I had to snort. I could clearly picture Heero delighting in telling Wufei that, could picture Wufei scowling and trying to decide if Heero was being sarcastic or not. 

I could also picture  _ Treize _ sneering at the very suggestion.

“No danger of that,” I assured Heero.

Heero winced and gave my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze.

We stepped into the rehearsal studio, and I heard Heero draw in a deep breath and watched him square his shoulders as Une looked our way.

“We open in a week,” I told him. “Just remember, one more week and then you’re done with her.”

“Sure, until the winter,” he muttered.

“Six months of freedom,” I assured him. “Just remember that.”

Heero nodded, and I squeezed his shoulder before moving off to greet Meilin Long and Sylvia Noventa, the two principal dancers who would dance the title role. 

ABT, like most large professional ballet companies, cast multiple dancers in the leading roles of each ballet. The  _ A _ company would perform on opening nights, the  _ B _ company on the following, and - if merited - the  _ C _ company would perform after that, with each company rotating out performances for the entire run of the ballet.

_ Sylvia _ had an  _ A _ and  _ B _ company but, since my role as Orion and Heero’s as Eros weren’t as taxing as the role of Sylvia or Aminta, the male lead, we would perform every night. It was good practice, and I didn’t mind at all that it meant I wouldn’t be home until after eleven every night all summer. 

I was already a lead in the  _ B _ company for  _ The Firebird, _ as well as playing Tybalt in the  _ A _ company of  _ Romeo and Juliet _ . Once  _ Sylvia  _ opened next week, my schedule would be very full. 

Of course, I hoped it would be even  _ more _ packed -  _ Le Corsaire _ was a great ballet, and Zechs promised to be an amazing - if brutal - choreographer. I wanted a lead in that ballet just as much as Heero did.

Une called us to attention - offering a sharp remark about Heero taking his precious time to play with his hair - and I settled myself in for just one of many rehearsals that day.

 

-o-

 

Heero and I spent our lunch hour at the New York Health and Racquet Club near Gramercy Park swimming laps. Most dancers spent their lunch hour working out, and while Heero and I usually spent a few days a week lifting weights, our preferred workout was swimming. 

The NYHRC offered saltwater pools and, while the club membership ate up a healthy portion of both of our salaries, it was worth it. 

There were elliptical machines and free weights at the ABT rehearsal studios, but taking the time to  _ leave  _ the building where we spent so much of our time was as much for our sanity as it was for our physical health.

As usual, swimming in a lane beside Heero devolved into a competition almost instantly. We never bothered to time ourselves, and rarely did we say anything about it, but there was always a clear winner and we both knew it.

Heero, though he was shorter than me, had incredibly powerful legs and enough motivation that, if willpower was enough, he would have been ten-feet tall. I had to push myself to stay even with him, let alone swim faster.

It was always a balance, trying to push ourselves yet not exhausting each other. We still had two afternoon rehearsals and a performance tonight.

Ballet was a marathon, not a sprint, and we had to train accordingly. 

After half an hour in the pool, I finally got in a shower and took a few minutes to shave as well while Heero just looked on, very smug, and ate trail mix.

“So how was the sex with Zechs last night?” I asked, more to wipe the look off his face than anything else.

Sure enough, the smirk slid into a scowl and Heero looked away from my face in the mirror.

“I told him I’d rather keep things professional for now.”

I arched an eyebrow, surprised and impressed. Heero was incredibly self-confident to the point of being arrogant, but even he had a hard time being less than deferential to choreographers.

“How did that go?”

Heero snorted and shook his head. 

I thought he wouldn’t say anything, but as I packed away my shaving kit and got dressed, he sighed.

“He said that if I was so hung up on sex being related to work then it was my problem.”

I scowled. “He’s an asshole.”

Heero snorted. “He’s also brilliant.” Heero ran a hand through his hair. “Trowa, I  _ want _ to be in  _ Le Corsaire _ .”

“You will be. You’re a soloist. No matter how pissed Zechs is if you don’t sleep with him, he can’t keep you out of the ballet.”

Heero shook his head. “No, Trowa. I want Conrad.”

It was my turn to snort. “Good luck. Heero- that role- you do realize there are eight male principals, as well as the rest of us soloists.”

“I know,” Heero agreed with an angry sigh. “But I’m better than everyone else. I’ve worked my ass off for this and Zechs knows it. He-” Heero caught himself and shook his head.

“What?” I asked, unused to seeing Heero so doubtful.

He gave me a look, and I knew that whatever he was about to say would piss me off. 

“ _ What _ ?” I repeated.

“The nights when I say I’m going to his place?” Heero began. I nodded. “We  _ do _ end up there, but we usually spend a few hours at the studio first. We work on the ballet.”

“He’s already rehearsing you for Conrad?” I was irritated, but not that upset. It was bullshit - for Zechs to have already decided that Heero would be his Conrad - but it wasn’t outside the realm of what was expected.

“No. We’ve- I’ve-” Heero seemed to be struggling to say whatever was on his mind.

“Jesus, Heero, just say it.”

“I’ve helped him choreograph it.”

I could only stare.

Heero looked away, and we walked in silence for several blocks, away from the gym and back to the ABT rehearsal studios.

“What do you  _ mean _ you’ve helped him choreograph it?” I asked at last.

Heero sighed and shrugged his shoulders, his body language more defensive than I had ever seen it.

“It started out- we started out with him just telling me what to do, but I had a few ideas of my own.”

“Don’t you always,” I muttered with a smirk, and Heero returned the expression.

Even as an apprentice, Heero had tried to buck the system, had tried to turn  _ demis _ into  _ grands _ , and it had worked for him as much as it had against him. It had, I recalled, been what had first attracted Zechs’ attention.

I shook my head. It was irritating to think that Zechs had decided to precast Heero - but that was  _ not _ what this was. 

And I knew Heero. If he said that he was helping Zechs choreograph the piece, he didn’t mean that he suggested a  _ cabriole _ here or a  _ fouette _ there; he was legitimately helping Zechs craft this ballet.

“Is he going to credit you?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

Heero gave me a look and adjusted his bag.

“At this point? If I keep telling him I don’t want to have sex until after he casts it, I’ll be lucky if he even puts me in the ensemble,” Heero muttered. “Of course he’s not going to credit me. You know how this works.”

I did. I knew all too well. Last night, with Treize, had not been my first experience with a choreographer looking to use a dancer for more than a muse. 

My entire year in Paris had been filled with situations like that, and it was a large part of why I had decided to come back instead of joining the Paris Opera Ballet.

I tried to think of what to say, what I could possibly say to comfort him, and I struggled. 

“I snuck out, this morning,” I mumbled, looking away from Heero and straight in front of me. “We all fell asleep, and this morning I woke up and ran away.”

“You didn’t even… say goodbye?”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“So I take it you aren’t planning on seeing him - or her - again?”

I shrugged. “Maybe I’ll get an invitation to next year’s birthday party?”

Heero snorted and shook his head.

It wasn’t  _ much _ comfort, but misery loves company, and at least I could wade through the mire with Heero, even if I couldn’t figure out a way to lift him out of it.

“You’re such an asshole,” he muttered, a slight smirk on his face, his tense body relaxing.

“I know,” I agreed, smirking again for his benefit. 

But the truth was - I regretted it.

I should have stuck around, should have woken them up, should have done  _ something _ . Last night had been so unlike any that I had experienced since college - maybe even ever - and I had regretted leaving them almost as soon as I stepped out of their lavish apartment.

Duo and Relena were unlike anyone I had ever met before. I didn’t even regret that last night had ended without sex - although it  _ would _ have been quite the experience to find myself between those two beautiful people - I just regretted that it had  _ ended _ .

 

-o-

 

On performance nights, I didn’t eat dinner before the show - I hated dancing while feeling full - and I had never liked eating a large lunch. It was something that Wufei used to point out, something he used to say was just yet another reason I was leading an unhealthy life and doomed to an early death - but I did go by the Pinkberry near Lincoln Center to get a cup. 

I was fully aware of how stupid it was - a grown man getting a treat just because it reminded him of his sister - and I hadn’t ever even told Heero about this pre-show ritual for fear of his judgement. 

I comforted myself with the fact that I loaded my cup of chocolate yogurt with granola and fresh fruit, but I still couldn’t help but feel guilty and furtive as I shoveled the yogurt down my throat while I sat on the steps in front of the Center.

I was never concerned with being spotted by a fellow company member - we were all too much inside our own heads to really care about looking at tourists sitting on the steps as we walked by.

I had ordered raspberries this time, and while they weren’t the best fit with the chocolate, they reminded me of Duo and the night before.

I should have at least left a note, I couldn’t help but think. I  _ should _ have woken him up - or Relena.

Berating myself for mistakes was nothing new, and it kept me occupied while I finished the yogurt and then made my way into the dressing rooms at the Metropolitan Opera House.

I shared a dressing room with three other dancers - the  _ A  _ company Koschei who had opened the show last night, as well as the two dancers who played  Kastchei. One of the stage hands had thought it was hilarious that the villains were all assigned the same dressing room, and had decked out the door to our room with black crepe paper and skulls.

I stepped into the room and greeted Alex, the  _ B _ company Kastchei. 

He nodded at me but didn’t say anything. Alex and I had never been close - he and Ralph, another soloist in the company, were three years older than Heero and I. It irked Alex and Ralph that, despite their superior experience, both Heero and I were often in competition with them for leading roles. The fact that Heero was the  _ A _ company Kastchei infuriated Alex, and he made no effort to hide his dislike for Heero or myself.

I walked over to my dressing station and saw a cream envelope with the ABT logo on the front of it and my name scrawled across it in the barely legible handwriting of the company artistic director, Kevin McKenzie.

That made me a little uneasy - the last time I had walked into my dressing room and found a note from McKenzie had been two years ago, near the end of the season, and McKenzie had written that he was loaning me out to the Paris Opera Ballet to see if it was a better  _ fit _ .

He might as well have said he wanted to fire me. 

Even though a season with the Paris Opera Ballet was, in many ways, better for my career than another in the  _ corps _ at ABT, it had felt like a punishment or a death sentence. Especially since I was never even called into his office to discuss it. 

It wasn’t until I was already in Paris, at my first day of rehearsals, that Une, choreographing the first ballet of the season, came up to me and told me that she had requested McKenzie loan me out for the season so that she could use me and show me off to her French colleagues.

I opened  _ this _ note hesitantly, and then found myself sighing as I scanned over it.

 

_ Trowa, _

_ As you know, our most generous donors are also our greatest fans. Next week is Soraya Winner’s wedding anniversary. Her husband, Zayeed, has asked for the benefit of a performance from some of our dancers at the event. The Winners donate more than fifty-thousand dollars each season. You are, according to Zayeed, one of Soraya’s favorite young dancers and we would like you to perform at this event along with Heero, Meilin and Iria. _

_ Stop by the Wardrobe Department tomorrow so that they can fit you for a costume - you and Meilin will dance the Bluebird and Princess Florine from  _ The Sleeping Beauty _. My good friend Treize Khushrenada - the choreographer for  _ Le Spectre _ later this year - will oversee all of the preparations for this.  _

_ See my assistant tomorrow for rehearsal times and locations. _

_ Break legs tonight, _

_ Kevin _

 

On one hand, I was relieved that it wasn’t something more serious than a few extra rehearsals and an evening of performing for a wealthy patron.

On the other hand, Treize.

I shoved the note back in the envelope and forced myself not to think about it. I noticed Alex looking at me in the mirror and I forced a smirk.

Alex liked to gossip - had started more than one rumor about Heero sleeping with Kevin McKenzie and me sleeping with Une to earn our promotions - and I refused to give him any ammunition for new rumors.

I spent the rest of my pre-show routine focused on the show, mentally reviewing the choreography while I stretched, so deep into my own head and thoughts that when I stepped out of the dressing room to head up to the stage I wasn’t even paying attention.

“Watch it!”

I backed away from the man I had run into, the voice and the anger instantly putting me on my guard.

Wufei Chang glared over at me, and I glared right back.

His glare transformed into more of a stare almost immediately.

“What?” I asked, uneasy with the change. I was used to Wufei glaring at me - and I knew exactly how to deal with that.

The look he was giving me  _ now, _ though, was too reminiscent of how he looked at me during sex.

“I haven’t seen you in full makeup and costume before now,” he said, cheeks flushing. “You look… you look good.”

We stared at each other for a long, awkward moment.

“What are you doing here?” I had to ask.

He arched an eyebrow, bristling a little at the question. If this had been a month ago, I would be rolling my eyes and teasing him. But it wasn’t a month ago.

“I had to fix a few light cues and talk to the board operator - she missed twelve cues last night. I didn’t want it to happen again. Not for y- not again.”

I sighed at the near-slip.

In the month since we had ended things - since he had kicked me out of his apartment - I hadn’t seen much of Wufei up close.

As one of the most talented young lighting designers in New York, he worked for most of the dance companies and had opened three shows on Broadway last year. He had designed the lights for the first three shows of the ABT season this year but, because I was in the  _ B _ company, I had yet to perform or have to interact with him. 

When I had performed in the  _ B _ company dress rehearsal earlier in the week, he had been so busy yelling at his assistants that I didn’t think he had noticed me - and he certainly hadn’t been backstage.

“I appreciate it,” I managed to say.

He nodded and started to walk away, but then paused and turned back to me.

_ Here it comes. _

“Heero said-”

“Heero likes to piss you off,” I interrupted. I needed to get to the stage, and I did not have time to comfort Wufei. I also didn’t have an  _ interest _ in it. 

_ He _ had been the one to tell me things weren’t working out.  _ He _ had been the one to suggest that I needed too much from him.  _ He _ -

I drew in a deep breath and shook my head.

“I have a performance. I’m sure the lights look great.” 

I walked past him, not quite able to ignore the way his mouth tightened, not quite able to ignore the hint of his cologne that I loved so much, not quite able to force myself not to lean towards him as our shoulders brushed.

Yet another regret that I forced myself  _ not _ to think about as I stepped into the wings and looked onstage towards the wash of lights, and the darkness beyond where the audience waited.

I closed my eyes and thought only of the music and the choreography, and I let myself become  Koschei.

  
  
  


\---

Important Note: 

 

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	4. Chapter 3 - Part One

A/N: This grew from a drabble request made by chemicalchrush.

A/N #2: Thanks to Ro for being an amazing beta, and to Maeve, for beta-reading and always being so encouraging.

A/N #3: I am in NO way an expert on ballet or music/orchestral life. I’m an expert on NONE of the careers mentioned - with the exception of Wufei’s, and even then I fully acknowledge he is way too young to have that job - so please just know I’m relying on the internet. If you have any suggestions or expertise to offer, I welcome it.

 

Warnings: language, angst, sexy times

 

Pairings: 2x3xR, 3x5, 1x4, 1x6, DxC others will be added as necessary

 

_ Pas de Trois _

Chapter Three - Part One

 

The callboard, Cathy used to say, is the place where you learn just how many of your fellow company’s members hope you break a leg.

It was harsh, but it was, oftentimes, true.

The board at ABT was an eight-foot-long by four-foot-wide corkboard that covered most of one wall outside the main rehearsal studio used for morning classes.

Posted on the board were the weekly and monthly performance and rehearsal schedules, contact information, role tracking and, most importantly, cast lists.

I still remembered the first cast list at ABT that had featured my name. I had been an apprentice and, like most apprentices, I expected to be stuck as a page or a soldier - or any number of incredibly minor male roles for the annual production of  _ The Nutcracker. _ But, after waiting nearly half an hour for the company dancers to clear out, I saw my name listed not only as a soldier, but also as the male in the Mirliton  _ pas de trois _ for Act II. I knew that  _ The Nutcracker _ was a chance for the  _ corps _ to step up into roles that were  _ almost _ large enough for a soloist, but it was rare that an apprentice got such a good role. 

The casting had earned me more than a few glares and pointed looks, and, predictably, rumors had started to spread about just how I was spending my time outside the rehearsal hall.

Usually, the cast lists went up at the end of the day, as everyone left the rehearsal studios and made their way home or to Lincoln Center.

I wasn’t sure why that tradition had been broken for the cast list of  _ Le Corsaire _ , but when I walked in to the studio on Wednesday morning, there was a swarm of dancers in front of the call board.

I frowned, wondering if someone had been injured and there was an announcement for understudies to step in, but then, as the dancers in front of me shifted, I saw the bold, cursive typeface.

_ Le Corsaire _ .

I had thought the casting wouldn’t go up until the end of the day on Friday. I hadn’t realized Zechs had already made his decisions.

I looked for Heero - he hadn’t come home last night, and I had assumed he had given in and spent the night with Zechs.

Smart of him, I couldn’t help but think as I slowly pushed my way towards the call board.

Last year, I would have stood at the back and waited. This year, as a soloist, I felt comfortable pushing past the apprentices and  _ corps _ members gathered, and peered between the shoulders of the principals and the other soloists closest to the board.

Three companies -  _ A, B  _ and  _ C. _ That wasn’t surprising, considering how few solos there were in the show - or in the season in general.

Aside from Conrad, the male roles of note were Birbanto, a member of the pirate crew and a traitor, Ali, the loyal slave of Conrad, and Lankendem, the owner of a slave market.

I remembered that for my first few shows with ABT I looked at the roles first and  _ then _ for my name beside the roles I hoped for. Too much disappointment had forced common sense to teach me to look instead for  _ my _ name and follow that to my role.

I started with the  _ C _ company and read the column listing the dancer’s names. Not there.

_ B _ company also didn’t list me.

_ A _ company…  _ Trowa Barton _ …  _ Birbanto _ .

I stared.

I was a  _ soloist _ . A  _ very _ junior soloist. Birbanto was a great role - my father had danced it three times in his career - and it should have gone to a principal or a more experienced soloist.

This would, I was sure, enrage Ralph and Alex.

And as shocked as I was by my casting, it also made a certain amount of sense.

There were currently eight male principal dancers and six male soloists - of which Heero and I were the newest. With that many male dancers, competition should be very, very stiff for a role like Birbanto. 

However, the company was in a bit of flux. Heero and I had been promoted from the  _ corps _ last year when two male principals and another two male soloists left the company - three had aged out, one had decided to tour as a guest artist. The remaining principals were like Zechs - in their mid-thirties, some nearly forty - and their age was catching up to them. Heero and I were the youngest soloists, Heero by almost six years and I by four. 

We had been lucky, to join ABT when we had. We had been promoted out of the  _ corps _ probably two or three years sooner than we would have if we had joined two years earlier or later. And because of the age of the principals, there was every chance we would actually  _ make _ principal if we stayed healthy and didn’t piss off management.

I pulled out my phone and sent Cathy a quick text.

**_I got Birbanto._ **

I put my phone away, not waiting for a response since she could be in class already, and looked back at the cast list for Heero’s name.

He wasn’t listed in  _ A _ company, and in fact - I had to look again.

_ Conrad… Zechs Merquise _ .

I stared for several seconds, unable to believe that Zechs had cast himself in the lead role.

And then I shook myself. Of  _ course _ Zechs had cast himself in the lead role. His only friend in the company, Otto, was cast as Conrad in  _ B _ company, and Ralph would dance him for  _ C _ company.

_ Ralph _ . Heero was so much better than Ralph that it was laughable to even look at that man’s name on the cast list for  _ that _ role.

I scanned the list again and finally found Heero’s name listed in the  _ C  _ company.

_ Ali _ … Heero Yuy.

_ Conrad understudy _ … Heero Yuy.

I felt my jaw clench in rage, and I turned away from the cast list and the dancers still crowding around it.

That  _ bastard _ .

I still couldn’t see Heero, and I wondered if he already knew - wondered where the hell he was.

I pulled my phone back out and called him, but it instantly went to voicemail.

I sighed, not bothering to leave a message - what the hell would I even say? - and put my phone away.

It was almost ten-thirty, almost time to start class, and Heero, to my knowledge, had  _ never _ been late.

But there wasn’t anything I could do, if he wasn’t answering his phone.

Reluctantly, I stepped past the other dancers and walked into the rehearsal hall.

The pianist was already there, playing something jazzy and definitely  _ not _ the music we normally worked with. He nodded a greeting at me and I nodded in return - I had no idea what his name was, but he had been playing piano for ABT for years before I had started as an apprentice, and would probably be here years after I was done.

There were a few dancers in the room, people whose names I had spotted listed as slave girls, solemn-faced and stretching.

And then there was Heero.

He was already there, in our usual spot, one hand on the barre to his left, his eyes glaring straight ahead at the mirror, his jaw clenched so tightly that I could see it from across the room.

_ Fuck that fucking asshole _ .

I walked over and stood in front of Heero.

I waited for him to look at me, for him to transfer his glare from the mirror to my face, and when his blue eyes met mine I could see that he was struggling not to cry.

I felt my hands curl into fists.

This was  _ Heero _ . Heero who, as an apprentice, had fractured his ankle in the middle of a performance of  _ Swan Lake _ and danced the rest of the show before even telling anyone.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, his voice raw and low and cutting.

“Heero-”

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” he repeated, and looked away from me.

I let it go. I had to.

The rest of the company started filing into the room, all talking about the casting, all speculating on why Zechs had decided to cast himself. 

It wasn’t until Zechs himself arrived and took his place at the front of the room, that I realized I would be dancing Birbanto to  _ his _ Conrad.

Suddenly, everything about him annoyed me. I had spent years looking up to him, admiring him and envying him. His incredible strength, his good looks - from his pale blue eyes to his blond hair, long enough that he had to pull it back into a loose bun when it wasn’t styled for performances, to his chiseled, classical features - I had wanted to  _ be _ Zechs for so long.

And now I didn’t even want to look at him. Couldn’t look at him.

Of course, I also couldn’t look  _ away _ from the ballet master without drawing the attention of other people.

I wondered what Heero was thinking. What he was feeling.

As if the world had decided to make the day even worse, Treize stepped into the room.

Every dancer was already keyed up over the cast list - and having an unexpected guest walk into class just before it began only heightened the tension in the room.

Everyone recognized him, had either danced with him or seen him in performance - and I wondered just how many of his fellow dancers had also had the dubious pleasure of going out with Treize.

The man was dressed for work - black ballet slippers, slim black jazz pants and a fitted red tank top - and I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

It had been three days since Kevin McKenzie had left the note in my dressing room, and when I had asked McKenzie’s assistant, May, about rehearsals for the Winner event, she had said that Treize would contact me.

Considering that the Winner party was scheduled for Sunday night, and I hadn’t heard anything from Treize - nor had Meilin, Heero or Iria - I felt it was a safe assumption that he was here for us.

Treize greeted the pianist with a smile, and then walked over to Zechs. The two spoke softly, smiling at each other, and Treize rested his hand on the small of Zechs’ back in a way that looked incredibly intimate. It was exactly the way he had touched  _ me _ the night of our date, and I found myself looking at Zechs in an entirely new light. And, by extension, Heero.

I had known my roommate for five years, and back when we had been apprentices, we had been assigned the same room in the apprentice housing. He had been a good roommate - as quiet and clutter-free as I was - but we didn’t spend any significant time together outside of classes and rehearsals until the first cast party, for  _ The Nutcracker _ . We had both had way too much to drink and, I discovered, being drunk made Heero just as handsy and horny as it made me. We did the smart thing and, instead of throwing ourselves at other company members, went back to our shoebox of a room, intent on a marathon of sex.

Only to discover that, also like me, Heero  _ only _ liked to bottom. While Heero was different - bossy to the point that one of his boyfriends had fondly complained about Heero being a power bottom - neither one of us had much enthusiasm for topping. 

Limited to trading blow jobs, we were both left unsatisfied but our friendship had grown from there.

Grown to the point that I knew, from Heero, that Zechs was every bit as bossy and demanding in bed as  _ Heero _ was. I knew that they fought constantly, that the sex was almost always rough, and that Heero liked it that way.

Looking at Zechs now, at the almost subservient way he turned to Treize when the other man touched him, made me wonder just how many men Treize had bent to  _ his _ will over the years.

Around the room, dancers started to shift uneasily. 

Class should have started five minutes ago, and while it  _ happened _ , interruptions and late starts were very rare.

Finally, Zechs and Treize stepped away from each other and Zechs looked around the room and singled us out - Meilin, Iria, Heero and then me.

“You four, Treize will be working with you this morning.”

I didn’t even bother to keep my lack of enthusiasm for that from my face.

I  _ loved _ class - it was something I looked forward to, even when I was running late or hung-over or hurt. The fact that I was missing class to work with  _ Treize _ for some donor’s birthday party was just rubbing salt into the wound.

Beside me, Heero looked just as tense and angry and barely together as he had before, but he picked up his bag and walked out of the room, not looking at Zechs once, and I followed his lead reluctantly.

Treize led the four of us to a rehearsal studio on the next floor, where a pianist was already waiting.

We dropped our bags off by the far wall, and I started to stretch.

Treize cleared his throat and I looked up at him.

“We don’t exactly have time to waste. I expect you’ve already warmed up sufficiently, and I only have time to spare for this little performance today and Friday morning.”

His cold gaze was fixed on me and I swallowed back my anger and irritation - obviously, I wasn’t sufficiently warmed up. None of us were. That’s what the first half hour of class was spent on. The class that he had just pulled us out of.

I stood up, forced a neutral expression on my face, and walked over to stand beside Meilin. 

She was a principal, one of the youngest, and an amazing dancer. She and I hadn’t danced together much, and while I felt that this birthday party performance was, on the whole, a distraction from the rehearsals and shows we should all be focusing on, I  _ was _ looking forward to dancing with her.

We would be dancing the pas de deux from  _ The Sleeping Beauty, _ with Princess Florine and the Bluebird. I had been fitted for my costume yesterday, and I hadn’t been able to ignore the feeling that  _ this _ might be the only time I had the opportunity to dance this role. My father, of course, had danced it and been brilliant. He and my mother had actually done this pas de deux in the New York City Ballet production of  _ The Sleeping Beauty _ years ago, at the height of their careers, and it was one of my earliest memories.

I had always wanted to dance this role, had always dreamed of performing it with my parents in the audience.

And of course, instead, I would be dancing it for a handful of rich people in some cramped Manhattan apartment. It wasn’t even worth  _ mentioning _ to my parents, who had, I was sure, done plenty of these kinds of things. In addition to  _ real _ performances.

I could already hear my father’s voice in my ears.

_ “Of course, when your mother and I toured, we performed that pas de deux for the President of Argentina - but it was nothing compared to performing it with the Kirov that one year.” _

“Darling,” Treize greeted Meilin with a kiss on her cheek and a possessive arm around her shoulders. “You are a perfect Juliet - I saw you last week.”

Meilin smirked, not so much preening under Treize’s words as accepting them as her due. She was arrogant - a fair number of the company called her  _ prima, _ and only half of them did so mockingly - but she was an incredibly talented dancer, graceful  _ and _ powerful.

“And Iria - your Firebird is devastating,” he said to the blonde haired ballerina, who melted under his attention.

He turned to Heero and smirked. “And of course, your Tybalt is quite impressive. I’ll be very interested to see what you are dancing in a few years.”

He didn’t say anything to me, and while I wasn’t surprised, the snub still hurt.

Treize cleared his throat and walked back to the center of the room.

“Zayeed Winner is, as I’m sure you know, a good friend to ABT and, since I am a good friend of  _ his _ , Kevin asked me to supervise this little performance for Soraya Winner. Zayeed chose all of you - apparently, Soraya thinks you four are the future of ABT - and Iria, I understand, chose the two  _ pas de deux _ you will be performing for her mother.”

I felt like an idiot, for just at that moment putting the connection together. Iria Winner, at thirty-four, had made principal last year, and would likely only dance for another season, maybe two at the most. When I had returned from Paris in January, I had been surprised that she had been promoted from the rank of soloist. She was good, but not as good as Meilin - not as good as Heero or I. It made sense that she was the Winners’ daughter, and I had a brief, bitter moment of wondering if her family’s hefty donations were part of why she had been promoted to principal in the first place.

Iria nodded. “My mother has always loved the pas de deux between the Bluebird and Princess Florine in  _ The Sleeping Beauty _ and, of course, the pas de deux for Conrad and Medora in  _ Le Corsaire _ .”

I arched my eyebrows at that, thinking it was quite the statement for Iria to suggest performing one of the most famous pas de deux in the classical repertoire when the company would be opening the show in a little less than a month.

And then it hit me.

If I was dancing the Bluebird- 

Heero would be dancing Conrad.

I looked over at my best friend and saw that his eyes were closed and his head was down.

_ Fuck this day _ .

“Now, if I recall, Meilin, you danced this role as an apprentice for me, didn’t you? In the showcase?”

Meilin nodded and smirked again, clearly pleased that Treize remembered her.

“Good. We’ll be using most of the same choreo - but tightening things a bit to account for space. I think we’ll keep the variation for Florine in, but I’m not sure about keeping the variation for Trowa…” Treize turned to me and tapped a finger against his lips speculatively. “We don’t want to bore them, after all.”

Within the pas de deux, and for the Bluebird’s variations, the male soloist did a series of leaps and turns that required incredible strength and skill.

Treize’s insult was clear, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying the first thing that popped into my head - fuck you.

Instead, I shrugged casually. “Whatever you think is best.” I hesitated, remembering how Treize had actually  _ enjoyed _ the attitude I gave him at the end of our disastrous date. “Of course, if our most generous donors wanted an evening to remember, it seems a shame not to give them their money’s worth.”

I felt the eyes of Heero, Iria and Meilin on me, but I ignored all of them and met Treize’s gaze.

His lips were tight and I wondered if I had miscalculated - if he perhaps had appreciated me talking back to him in private, but here, in front of the company…

_ Shit _ .

I could see my career going down the drain in those seconds as I waited for him to speak.

“Let’s see if you’re able to deliver, hm?” Treize finally said, his tone idle and deadly.

Feigning confidence, I nodded stiffly.

Treize turned to Iria and Heero. 

“I know Zechs has all sorts of ideas for  _ Le Corsaire, _ but let’s keep this traditional - I think it’s what Soraya likes best. Now, we only have five hours to work on this - I expect all of you to learn what I show you today and repeat it perfectly on Friday. Let’s begin with Conrad and Medora.”

He gestured, and Heero and Iria stepped forward while Meilin and I moved to the side of the room.

I took the opportunity to stretch and warm-up, Meilin doing the same beside me, while we both watched Treize walk through the  _ pas de deux _ with our fellow dancers.

Treize drew heavily from the Ratmansky choreography, which was typical - Treize had the reputation of preserving the classics rather than reinterpreting them - and I wanted to hate it, to hate  _ him _ , as I watched him work with Heero and Iria. 

But I couldn’t. 

Treize was good - he was exacting and harsh but, after just twenty minutes of work, Heero and Iria already looked amazing. 

When Treize gestured for Meilin and I to take their places, I had to fight back a wave of anxiety.

I had just watched my best friend dance his dream role - a role he had  _ earned _ and been denied - for a man who quite clearly thought very,  _ very _ little of me. 

 

-o-

Important Note: 

 

I have started a Patreon page under the name Clara Barton.

Becoming a Patron not only provides me with encouragement and financial support, but it gives YOU the chance to decide which fics I update next, exclusive one-shots, gift fics and personalized one-shots - as well as the chance to read my work before it gets posted anywhere else.

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Find me by typing in the following url: patreon dot com backslash ClaraBarton (You will not be able to find me by searching since my content is marked as NSFW).


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This grew from a drabble request made by chemicalchrush.

A/N #2: Thanks to Ro for being an amazing beta, and to Maeve, for beta-reading and always being so encouraging.

A/N #3: I am in NO way an expert on ballet or music/orchestral life. I’m an expert on NONE of the careers mentioned - with the exception of Wufei’s, and even then I fully acknowledge he is way too young to have that job - so please just know I’m relying on the internet. If you have any suggestions or expertise to offer, I welcome it.

 

Warnings: language, angst, sexy times

 

Pairings: 2x3xR, 3x5, 1x4, 1x6, DxC others will be added as necessary

 

_ Pas de Trois _

Chapter Three - Part Two

 

Watching Treize work with Heero and Iria had been one thing. 

Having Treize stand in front of me, talking and demonstrating the choreography in a manner that suggested he doubted I would be able to manage even the slightest proficiency with it, had been another thing.

I had known it was coming - or at least suspected it. But there was very little I could do to mentally prepare myself for just how brutal Treize was with me.

It wasn’t just that the  _ brise _ he wanted me to execute wasn’t perfect on my first attempt; it wasn’t just the way he kept muttering  _ ecarte _ at me and gesturing for me to open up more; it wasn’t just the way he stood there telling me to go faster and faster during the  _ fouette _ . It was the way that, when I finally performed to his satisfaction, he merely nodded and signalled for us to move on. 

I had never felt so much frustration with myself or with a choreographer before. I felt like I was giving Treize  _ everything _ and, when I finally managed to meet his expectations and prove that I was worth his notice, he treated me as though I had done no less than he had expected all along.

“We’re getting drunk,” I told Heero as we packed up our bags.

Heero snorted and looked over at me.

“Don’t you have a show?”

Treize had finally released us at one - holding us an hour past when class normally ended - and I had to hurry to make it over to Lincoln Center in time for my matinee performance in  _ The Firebird _ .

“ _ After _ ,” I growled at him. “We’re getting drunk  _ after _ .”

Heero frowned, and looked on the verge of turning me down.

“Did you have other plans?” I asked him.

He hesitated, and I let out an incredulous laugh.

“You  _ cannot _ be serious.”

Heero turned away from me and started to leave the rehearsal room.

I shoved the last of my gear into my bag and quickly caught up to him.

“Heero.”

“Trowa.”

I rolled my eyes at his tone. “After today, do you really want to spend the-”

“No, Trowa, I don’t. The  _ last _ thing that I ever want to do is see him again.”

“Then  _ don’t _ see him again - outside of work.”

Heero shook his head.

He was silent until we left the building, but when I stopped by the curb to hail a cab, he waited with me.

“I told him I wouldn’t sleep with him until after casting because I didn’t want-”

“You didn’t want to have to fuck him for a role,” I finished for him.

“ _ No _ . I didn’t want him thinking I was fucking him for a role. And he was right - it was  _ my _ hang-up in the first place, not his.”

“So you’re telling me that you don’t care that you spent the night with him last night and this  _ morning _ he puts up a cast list that basically says you can go to hell?”

Heero refused to meet my gaze.

“Our relationship and work aren’t the same - they aren’t…” he trailed off, and I could see he was struggling to convince me. To convince himself.

“Heero,” I managed to flag down a cab and opened the door, “how many hours have you spent working with him on the choreography for  _ Le Corsaire _ ? Because you weren’t doing that as a member of the ABT company. You were doing that as his boyfriend.”

The look he gave me made it clear that he knew that, and that he was trying very desperately  _ not _ to think about it.

I sighed. “Look, Heero. At least get dinner with me tonight. Zechs is performing in  _ Carmen _ later - you wouldn’t even see him until after , anyway.”

Heero nodded, and then he waved me away. 

“Go, or you’re going to be late - and we’ll never hear the end of it from Ralph and Alex.”

“And they already have enough to bitch about, what with their lack of talent,” I muttered, but I got in the cab and closed the door.

“Lincoln Center,” I told the driver as I settled back into the seat and pulled out my phone.

I turned it on to see that I had several text messages.

**_Text me dates - what company? Doro and I want to see your opening. Doro says not to let Zechs’ choreography settle too deep - she wants you to dance it with her when the Joffrey does the Holmes staging next year! Merde, Trowa!_ **

Cathy’s text made me smirk, and I let myself have a moment of uninhibited pride at getting the role. 

And then I saw the next text was from my mother.

**_Darling, we decided to come into the city today to see your matinee - wait for us after so we can take you out for dinner._ **

My parents had both retired as dancers twelve years ago. For a few years they had travelled the world, working with old friends and choreographing pieces, but five years ago they had settled in Philadelphia and accepted the Ballet Master and Ballet Mistress positions with the Pennsylvania Ballet Company.

Because they were only a two-hour train ride away, they came up to see my performances often - at least once a show -and while I appreciated their support, after the morning I had had, spending the evening with them was not going to improve my day.

I sighed, and tried to come up with any polite way to get out of dinner, and immediately felt selfish and ungrateful for even thinking about it.

**_Sounds great. Do you mind if Heero joins us for dinner?_ **

It was a courtesy, more than anything else. My parents - my father especially - loved Heero.

I was paying the driver and hurrying out of the cab when my parents texted me back.

**_Of course he can! We haven’t had the chance to tell him yet how much we enjoyed his Tybalt._ **

_ Romeo and Juliet _ was one of the few shows where Heero and I danced in the same company. Our roles as Mercutio and Tybalt were sizeable, and my death scene - at Heero’s hands - had been some of my favorite choreography this season.

**_Change of plans. My parents are taking us to dinner. Meet us in the lobby after the show?_ **

I turned off my phone as I hit the stage door and hurried down the steps. 

By the time I made it to my dressing room, Susan, the dresser, was waiting for me impatiently, my costume over her arms and a scowl on her face.

“I’m so sorry,” I told her as I dumped my bag and started to strip.

“Uh huh. Less talking and more getting naked.”

With Susan’s help I managed to get into my costume and makeup with just enough time to get to the stage.

I pushed all of my anxiety and nerves aside - all of my anger from this morning’s rehearsal with Treize, my anxiety over the fact that my parents were in the audience, even my pride at getting Birbanto - and focused solely on  _ Firebird _ , on Koschei.

 

-o-

 

I wiped off the layers of stage makeup as quickly as I could, but my hair, shoved under a wig cap, wig and horned crown for the last hour, was a mess.

I stuck my head under a faucet and tried to finger-comb through my sweaty locks.

“Hot date?” Alex asked with a sneer as I towel-dried it after.

I gave him a look but he shrugged a shoulder.

“I can’t decide who you’re fucking on the side - Zechs or McKenzie, or maybe even Treize? Ralph’s always thought you were Une’s little piece of ass, but I think you’re smarter than that. Have to be, to get the roles you’re landing.”

I ignored him and dressed in the change of clothes I had started to keep in my bag since the morning I had had to trek from Brooklyn back to Manhattan.

Jeans and a sweater - nothing fancy - and I hoped that my parents would settle for going somewhere casual for dinner. Hopefully somewhere casual with a decent beer selection.

“Of course,” Alex added as I stepped into my sneakers, “you should be careful. After all, sleeping with Zechs didn’t work out so well for Heero, did it?”

_ That _ got my attention, and I glared at Alex’s reflection in the dressing room mirror.

“Alex, I realize that it’s difficult for you to understand, having no measurable talent of your own, but neither Heero nor I have to sleep with the artistic staff to earn our roles.”

I wanted to say more, especially when Alex’s eyes narrowed, but I couldn’t keep my parents waiting.

And besides, it was immensely satisfying to walk away while Alex was still trying to formulate a response.

I found my parents and Heero easily enough. They were in the lobby and, predictably, a small crowd had gathered around them.

My parents had been famous enough that, even twelve years later, there were balletomanes who recognized them.

As I approached, I heard my father laugh at something one of his fans said and put his arm around Heero’s shoulders.

“But  _ this _ young man,” my father said with a broad grin, “ _ he’s _ someone to watch! His Tybalt is fantastic. Heero has such great technique - and his  _ grand jetes _ \- I would have killed to be able to land those when I was his age!”

Heero lips curved upwards ever so slightly at the praise.

I had been jealous, the first time my parents met Heero and gushed over his talent. I had been jealous the first  _ several _ times, in fact, until I finally got my head out of my ass and realized that Heero’s parents were never around - never sent him notes or flowers or came to the performances. 

It had taken another night of too much drinking and not enough sex for me to ask him about it, after, while we laid on our living room floor naked.

Heero’s parents were horrified that their son was a ballet dancer - a  _ ballerina, _ his father mockingly called him. They didn’t care that, at twenty-three, he was a soloist for one of the best companies in the world. They didn’t care that, if he remained healthy, he had every chance of being one of the  _ best _ dancers in the world by the time he reached thirty. 

All they cared about was the fact that their son had taken dance classes in secret, that their son put on ballet slippers and tights, that their son put on lipstick and eyeshadow and blush. 

To my knowledge, they had never even seen him perform. 

So, even though it still stung a bit to hear my father speak so proudly of Heero, I didn’t begrudge him the attention.

Besides, my father was right. Heero  _ was _ an amazing dancer - and he reminded me of my father as well.

My mother was the first to see me, and she broke away from the group to hug me.

“You were wonderful, my darling,” she said after kissing my cheek.

I gave her a look. “I hobbled across the stage with a staff and twirled my cape.”

“But you did it so well.” We shared a smile. “Let’s drag your father away before he puts Heero to sleep,” she suggested.

She pulled me over, and my father looked up at me.

“Trowa! Hm. I don’t know which is better for Koschei - that wig or your hair now.”

I fought against the urge to run a hand through my hair.

Unless I kept it trimmed very short, my bangs refused to go anywhere but over my face, except when restrained by industrial amounts of hairspray and gel. It was something my father had teased me about for as long as I could remember. 

“Well, it’s been lovely chatting with all of you,” my mother said with a smile at the crowd, “but we’ve got dinner reservations. Have a lovely evening!”

She pulled my father away, and Heero and I followed them.

“Reservations?” I asked him.

Heero nodded. “Your mother asked if I knew anywhere good.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Heero, you think Chipotle is worthy of a Michelin review.”

“It  _ is _ ,” he insisted. “Where else can you find one meal with enough calories to sustain you for an entire week?”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Please tell me we aren’t going to Chipotle.”

I wasn’t in the mood to deal with that kind of food - or the aftermath of indulging in it.

“No, we aren’t going to Chipotle,” he said, in a voice that made me want to ask if he was lying.

“Then where are we going that  _ you _ recommended?”

“Howard’s End.”

I stopped following my parents and glared at him.

“ _ Why _ ?”

He looked abashed. “It was the only restaurant I could think of - like you said, I don’t know anything about decent food. I only knew the name of  _ that _ place because you asked me to google it when Treize made reservations for your date.”

“You realize Duo works there?”

“Unless he quit his job so he could scour the city for you,” Heero said, doing absolutely nothing to abate my irritation with him. “I’m  _ sorry _ ,” he muttered after seeing just how irritated I was. “She asked, and it was the only place I could think of, and as soon as I said it, I regretted it. But she googled it, and apparently they have some amazing lamb dish, and your father was just telling her how much he wanted lamb, and-”

“Okay, I get it.” I drew in a deep breath. “It’s fine.”

Heero gave me a look. “Right. You’re just as convincing as I am when you say that.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a reason we’re dancers and not stage actors,” I muttered.

We shared a smirk, and then caught up to my parents where they stood waiting for us by the fountain situated between the three theatres.

My father insisted on walking the eight blocks to the restaurant, and along the way he told Heero his favorite stories of dancers getting injured as Mercutio and Tybalt while my mother and I lagged behind. I had heard these stories countless times and my mother had been on-hand to witness the unembellished, actual events, years before.

“So,” she asked as she looped her arm through mine, “have you met anyone since Wufei?”

My father had hated Wufei - almost as much as Wufei had hated my father - but my mother had inexplicably developed an attachment to Wufei that she had never explained to me. When I told her we had ended things, when she had badgered me into admitting that _ Wufei _ had ended things, I had felt her disappointment as though it was a tangible weight on my shoulders.

“Not really,” I told her, because I was sure she didn’t need to know about the dozens of men I had slept with since Wufei, or my disastrous date with Treize, or my… whatever it had been, with Duo and Relena. 

“Hm.”

“How are Dorothy and Cathy?” I asked, using the age-old tactic of shifting attention to my sibling.

“Oh, happy enough. We were there last month to choreograph  _ The Dream _ for the Joffrey. Dorothy is a fantastic Titania - of course. Cathy seems well. She certainly seems to be making herself comfortable now that she isn’t dancing anymore.”

I bit back a sigh at that.

_ Comfortable _ was my mother’s euphemism for fat. Growing up, I had heard her refer to my teachers or pas de deux partners as  _ comfortable-looking _ with so much distaste that, even now, whenever anyone used that word, I immediately thought about being overweight. 

“I’m glad they’re happy,” I said. “And I’m sure Dorothy isn’t as good as  _ you _ were.”

“Oh, no, I believe she’s quite a lot better. That girl is determined to wrap gravity around her little finger. She’s incredible - and I hate that she won’t even consider moving to New York or London.”

“She and Cathy love Chicago - and they love working for the Joffrey. And Dorothy would never respect a male artistic director as much as she respects Ashley Wheater.”

My mother sighed, but she nodded in agreement. 

“Very true - and Dorothy asked me  _ again _ about trying to convince you to move  _ there _ .”

I smirked at that and shook my head.

When Dorothy had first asked - demanded, really - that I consider auditioning for the Joffrey, I had thought she was just trying to be nice. Of course, it hadn’t taken me long to realize that Dorothy didn’t  _ do _ just nice. 

By the time we arrived at the restaurant, I had managed to  _ almost _ not think about the fact that there was every chance I would walk in and be face-to-face with the guy I had gone home with and run away from the next morning.

I had thought about both Duo and Relena over the past week, about the party and after, laying on the rooftop and getting high and just  _ existing _ in a way that was so very alien to the life I led.

I had thought about them, and I had even fantasized about them, replacing my usual habit of thinking of Wufei fucking me while I masturbated with imagining what sex with the two of them would have felt like.

Based on the way Relena kissed and the way Duo had become more confident when he saw the way I responded to him, I was willing to bet it would have been an incredible experience.

We walked into the restaurant, and I tried - and failed miserably - to restrain myself from looking over at the bar while my father gave our name to the maitre’d.

I couldn’t decide if the world hated me or was trying to reward me.

There he was, dressed entirely in black, standing behind the bar and mixing a cocktail while chatting up a customer, a broad grin on his face, his features just as handsome as I remembered them.

Heero caught me staring and followed my gaze.

“ _ Him _ ?” he asked, sounding very amused.

I flushed and looked away from Duo.

“He doesn’t really seem your type,” Heero said, not even bothering to be inconspicuous as he looked at Duo. “I wonder if- he’s looking right at you, Trowa.”

I felt a moment of sheer panic, and immediately felt like an idiot. I forced myself to look back towards the bar, and my gaze met Duo’s.

I was dimly aware of my father trying to get my attention, but all I could focus on was Duo’s face, on the way his smile turned into that almost-cocky smirk.

Heero put his hand on my back and gave me a shove forward, towards the table where my parents were waiting for us, and I noticed Duo’s smirk slip into a frown, noticed the way his eyes narrowed, noticed the way he turned away.

_ What the hell? _

I sat down beside Heero and accepted a menu from our waiter - Dan - but I wasn’t able to listen while he related the specials to us. 

I looked back at the bar, hoping to catch Duo’s eye again, but he ignored me.

My father ordered a bottle of wine for the table and, once it was poured, offered a toast.

“To Heero - who is a tremendous Tybalt, and to Trowa - who continues to impress me with his typecasting as a villain.”

We clinked our glasses together, and I noticed Heero’s frown.

“You told them about the casting?” he guessed.

I hadn’t - I had, if I was being honest, wanted to enjoy the success of being cast as Birbanto for at least  _ one day _ before having to listen to my father compare me, unfavorably, to himself.

“Casting? Oh- is the  _ Le Corsaire _ casting posted already?” my mother asked.

I nodded.

“Well, how did you two do?” my father asked.

“I’ve been cast as Ali in  _ C _ company,” Heero said unenthusiastically.

“And Conrad’s understudy,” I added, knowing that while it wasn’t good enough, it was still worth noting.

“Not bad,” my father said. “I danced Ali a few times - you’ll have a nice variation and,” he added after winking at my mother, “trust me when I say that nothing helps your game like dancing shirtless in harem pants. Your mother finally agreed to go out with me after we opened  _ Le Corsaire _ .”

My mother rolled her eyes but she let my father kiss her, and I couldn’t help but be amused.

“And you?” she asked me.

“Let me guess,” my father jumped in before I could answer, “based on your recent trends… are you one of the eunuchs?”

My anger at the suggestion took me by surprise.

There were three eunuchs and, while they weren’t exactly movable scenery, they weren’t roles anyone ever dreamed of getting. They weren’t even significant enough to be double or triple-cast - the same three dancers would perform them for every show.

“No,” I managed to say after taking a rather large sip of wine. “I’m Birbanto in the  _ A  _ company.”

My father’s shock was less than encouraging.

“Darling! How fantastic!” My mother, at least, managed to recover quickly enough to smile and raise her glass for another toast. “Well done, both of you!”

“Yes,” my father agreed hastily. “Well done, indeed.”

I fully expected the rest of the evening to be my father regaling us with stories of  _ his _ portrayals of both Ali and Birbanto, and I knew there was no way I could drink enough wine to dull my anger without earning my parents’ disapproval.

So, as soon as I placed my order - passing on the lamb for the duck salad that would, at the very least, not have me emptying my stomach later - I escaped to the bathroom.

I stared at myself in the mirror, and I had to admit my hair  _ was _ more of a wreck than usual, but I couldn’t be bothered to try to tame it. Besides, my father would no doubt notice and comment on it if I did.

I stayed in the bathroom for too long, but not long enough by my estimation. When I finally left, I hesitated, looking at our table and then at the bar, where Duo seemed to be between customers.

Swallowing my fear of rejection, I decided to go to the bar and speak to him in an effort to forestall sitting down across from my father again.

I walked up and leaned against the counter.

Duo glanced at me automatically, hesitated, sighed, and then walked over.

“Can I get you something?” he asked.

And I realized quite abruptly that I had no idea what to say to him.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, and I licked my lips.

_ Shit _ . What the hell should I say?

“I wanted to apologize, for your birthday - for leaving the way I did.”

“Yeah? Well, I guess I can understand why you’d sneak out.”

“You do?”

Duo nodded. “Sure. Easier than some awkward morning-after conversation - even though we didn’t have sex. You know, it’s funny, but I’ve spent this whole week kicking myself about that? I’m such an idiot.” Duo shook his head and laughed bitterly.

“Why?” I had to ask. “I’ve been doing the same. I-”

“Your boyfriend’s getting jealous,” Duo interrupted me, nodding past me.

I turned to see Heero looking at us.

“Heero? He’s not-”

“I know the food’s great here and all, but I’d consider it a personal favor if you didn’t plan on bringing your boyfriend and your family here to rub my face in it again,” Duo cut me off.

Before I could say anything, he walked to the other side of the bar, leaving me staring after him.

_ Fuck this day. _

  
  
  


-o-

Important Note: 

 

I have started a Patreon page under the name Clara Barton.

Becoming a Patron not only provides me with encouragement and financial support, but it gives YOU the chance to decide which fics I update next, exclusive one-shots, gift fics and personalized one-shots - as well as the chance to read my work before it gets posted anywhere else.

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Find me by typing in the following url: patreon dot com backslash ClaraBarton (You will not be able to find me by searching since my content is marked as NSFW).


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This grew from a drabble request made by chemicalchrush.

A/N #2: Thanks to Ro for being an amazing beta, and to Maeve, for beta-reading and always being so encouraging.

A/N #3: I am in NO way an expert on ballet or music/orchestral life. I’m an expert on NONE of the careers mentioned - with the exception of Wufei’s, and even then I fully acknowledge he is way too young to have that job - so please just know I’m relying on the internet. If you have any suggestions or expertise to offer, I welcome it.

A/N #5: If you’re ever curious about what these people’s homes look like, check out “Pas de Trois Locations” on my tumblr page, where I have links to actual apartments that are for sale! In case you have several million dollars laying around. In which case, we should talk.

 

Warnings: language, angst, sexy times

 

Pairings: 2x3xR, 3x5, 3x13, 1x4, 1x6, DxC others will be added as necessary

 

_ Pas de Trois _

Chapter Four

  
  


“So what  _ is _ the appropriate gift to get someone for their surprise engagement party?” I asked Heero.

It was Saturday afternoon, and we were in Bendel’s on 5th Avenue. The matinee of  _ Firebird _ had ended and Heero, performing in it, had walked down to meet me at the boutique. 

Heero paused to smell one of the candles. He sniffed, and then recoiled in disgust. I looked and made a mental note - “Blackberry Fig” was a no for Heero.

“No idea,” he shrugged. “You could google it.”

I rolled my eyes, but pulled out my phone anyway and typed the question into the google search.

There were no immediate results, but I clicked on the Martha Stewart link for engagement party etiquette.

“How fancy is this going to be?” I asked Heero, as I scrolled through images of models in cocktail dresses and suits.

The other man shrugged again, sniffed at the “Provence” scented candle and smiled ever-so-slightly. I made a mental note of that as well. 

“Her birthday party there last year had people in ballgowns. You were in Paris, so you got to miss it, lucky bastard,” he added with a mutter. “I think the mayor was there.”

“At Meilin’s birthday party?” I asked, incredulous. Sure, she was a principal at ABT, but still…

“Her boyfriend is a Livingston. Or an Astor. Or something like that.”

“Something like that?” I echoed, amused. “What’s his name?”

“Terrance something.  _ Not _ Livingston or Astor,” he added quickly, clearly guessing what I would say next.

“And how did-”

“He’s a member of the board - I don’t think he works. He met Meilin at the gala two years ago and has been pathetically in love with her ever since.”

I arched an eyebrow. It was difficult to imagine Meilin in a relationship with someone who seemed so desperate. As much as Meilin appreciated attention and expected to be lavished with praise for her talent, she didn’t think much of sycophants. I had always pictured her as being interested in someone who would challenge her and who  _ she _ would have to chase.

“You think she wants to be ambushed with a proposal in front of the entire company?” Heero asked idly, as he sniffed at ‘Lemon Verbena.’

I levelled a cool look at him. “If you think  _ she _ hasn’t had a hand in organizing this entire thing, you’re delusional. She’s a  _ prima _ \- the world is her stage, and she’s not going to let herself be put in a position she doesn’t want to be in.”

Heero thought that over and then nodded. “Except for the Winner party.” He smirked. “All through our  _ Sylvia _ rehearsals yesterday, she wouldn’t stop complaining about it.”

That brought me up short. Of course, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it either, but I was at  _ least _ looking forward to dancing with Meilin.

“Did she complain about me?” I had to ask.

Heero shook his head, not bothering to look up from his inspection of a row of candles that seemed so small they might as well have been designed for a dollhouse.

“No. She said you’re the best  _ pas de deux _ partner she’s had since she and Zechs did  _ Don Quixote _ .”

I arched an eyebrow at that unexpected praise. “Really?”

Heero nodded, and then looked up at me with a slight smirk on his lips.

“Of course, she also says you’re as anxious and uptight as she was the day she auditioned for ABT. She says you need to get laid or you’re going to break something.” Heero let his gaze sweep down to my crotch.

I rolled my eyes and gave his shoulder a slight shove. He rocked but, of course, remained perfectly balanced.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Can I help you find anything?”

A sales associate - the second one since we had entered the boutique - walked towards us with an empty smile on her blandly attractive face.

“We’re looking for engagement presents,” I told her.

Her smile brightened considerably. “Congratulations! Would you like me to get the paperwork for our registry so that-”

“No,” I jumped in hastily. “Not for-”

“Let’s hold off on the paperwork,” Heero said, and stepped closer to me, sliding an arm around my waist and offering me another smirk. “We’re just browsing today. Can you show us a few items?”

“Of course!” She smiled again, and started to walk away. 

We followed, slowly, and I glared down at Heero.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugged one shoulder, a gesture he had picked up from me.

“I’m bored. And besides, we’ve been dating for a few days - I thought it was time to take our relationship to the next level.”

My glare intensified. 

He had asked, that night when we got home from the too-long dinner with my parents, what had happened with Duo and I when I went up to the bar. He had been amused by Duo’s assumption - it wasn’t the first time someone had assumed we were dating. We had both lost a few dates over the years when they saw us interact and assumed that we were secretly in love with each other - or not so secretly, on occasion. Twice we had been propositioned, by  _ Heero’s _ boyfriends, with a threesome.

The sales associate showed us an array of increasingly useless items - key fobs and key trays, striped boxes, dog accoutrement, candle collections, and-

“What is that?” Heero gestured to a gold tool that looked like surgical scissors with a strange, circular tip.

“Oh, a candlewick trimmer,” she responded, as if of  _ course _ that’s what it was - how could we not know?

Heero and I stared at it. Who the hell, I wondered, was so pretentious as to need a  _ gold _ candlewick trimmer?

I looked at the price tag - $78. For a pair of crappy gold scissors.

“It’s perfect,” Heero said, and I found myself nodding in agreement. 

The sales associate beamed at us. “Perfect for the first item on your registry, or-”

“No,” Heero let me go and reached out to pick up one of the leather boxes that contained the useless implement. “I think we don’t want to wait to bring this home.”

“Actually,” I took the thing from him, “I think this might make the perfect gift for my sister. We can see how she likes it, and then decide if we need it. Can you gift wrap this?”

I held it out and the associate took it. “Of course. Would you like to continue browsing, or-”

“No, I think that’s all we need at the moment,” Heero said.

We followed her up to the counter.

“What did you get them?” I asked him as I pulled out my wallet. 

Heero’s lips tipped upwards again, this time in an expression that said  _ he _ thought he was funny, even if no one else did. 

I rolled my eyes, wondering just what he had done.

“I got them a video series.”

I arched an eyebrow. That sounded so mundane, and didn’t explain his amusement at all.

“ _ Sex Ballet _ . It’s an exercise series.”

“ _ Sex Ballet _ ?” I repeated, too loudly, and a few people looked at me.

Heero continued to smirk.

“It teaches you ballet exercises that are designed to improve your sex life.”

I could only imagine what Meilin’s response to that was going to be.

“Is this about-”

“Yes,” Heero interrupted me, clearly not keen to have it said aloud.

I found myself smirking as I forked over way too much money for a very useless object that had been trussed up in a striped box and wrapped with a gold bow. 

On our first day as members of the  _ corps _ , four years ago now, Heero and I had made the mistake of walking into the wrong locker rooms at the ABT rehearsal studios. As apprentices, we had shared a locker room with the upper-level students in the JKO school, and on that first day, we had simply followed the signs and stepped into the first locker room we found.

We were both naked except for our dance belts when Meilin had walked in, then just a soloist, and arched an eyebrow at us. 

Wordlessly, she had stood in front of a locker between us and started to undress. 

Heero and I hadn’t known what to do - hadn’t known  _ why _ Meilin was in the men’s locker room at all.

But then, before I’d even put on a shirt, the door opened again and a parade of women in the company entered. 

They looked at Heero and I, practically naked, and burst out laughing.

We had grabbed our bags and fled, the sound of Meilin’s laughter rising above the others, and had had to hurriedly put on our clothes in the hall, under the amused eyes of Zechs.

Heero had not forgiven Meilin for that, and it amused me that  _ this _ was his revenge four years later.

 

-o-

 

It was bizarre to think that Meilin lived a mile from us. But the differences between Murray Hill and the Upper East Side were impossible to miss. While most of the buildings were still Pre-War, in Meilin’s neighborhood most of the facades had been replaced or refurbished. Trees were everywhere - as were doormen.

We had gone back to our apartment to change into the suits we usually reserved for opening night parties or galas, and then had walked up to her apartment.

Even so, standing in front of the doorman in my $150 dollar suit, I was keenly aware that it was  _ not _ up to par with this building.

The doorman let us in and another liveried employee took us up on the elevator to the 17th floor.

_ Holy shit. _

I had thought that Duo and Relena’s apartment was the most expensive place I had ever been in.

But it was nothing compared to this place.

“Two floors,” Heero told me as we walked up a staircase, “and wait ‘til you see the-”

“Holy shit.”

One entire wall of the apartment was a glass-covered terrace, lined with blue-cushioned seating, Manhattan spread out in all of her dusky glory beyond us.

Beside me, Heero looked smug, but just a little in awe as well.

I had never seen something so incredible. 

All around me were signs of wealth - from furniture to paintings to rugs to the marble floors. 

To the  _ people _ .

My suit definitely didn’t stand up.

While most of the women were in cocktail dresses, they weren’t the casual ones from the Martha Stewart etiquette guide. These women were wearing dresses that looked like they had just stepped off the runway.

I felt incredibly out of place, and I clutched the Bendel’s gift tightly.

“Let’s find the bar,” Heero suggested. I followed him, and we navigated our way to a balcony adjacent to the terrace - this one open to the cool night air. Along the way, we passed a side table that seemed to be the gift repository, and we placed ours on the table in the midst of countless Tiffany’s boxes.

Heero collected two glasses of champagne for us and we stood, looking out at the city, sipping on the effervescent liquid.

“It makes you wonder why she even bothers to dance,” Heero murmured.

That thought took me by surprise, and I considered it.

It was difficult to imagine Meilin forcing herself to follow the grueling regime of a professional ballet dancer when she could, instead, recline in this palace of an apartment at her leisure. But then, what would be the point? As grand as this apartment was, it was  _ not _ the Metropolitan Opera House. The gathered crowd here, as sparkling and no doubt influential as it was, it was not 3,800 people standing and calling for an  _ encore _ .

If I had been faced with the choice - dance or live a carefree life in this place - I would have hesitated, but I would have chosen to dance. I knew that was naive, and in five years, definitely in ten, I would dream of having this kind of luxury. But for now, the two-bedroom apartment I shared with Heero, with the screeching elevator and leaky faucets and broken firescape, was enough when it allowed me to stand on that stage, under those lights, and dance.

There was a sound, someone calling the guests to attention, and I assumed that Meilin had finally arrived.

She had performed in  _ Carmen _ at eight. It was nine-thirty now, plenty of time for her to have showered after the one-act ballet and prepared herself for this “surprise” party.

Sure enough, when she stepped through the door, Meilin was dressed in a simple black dress that, while no means as ornate as some of the attire of her guests, fit her well, and was certainly fancier than the leggings and t-shirts I knew she normally put on after a performance.

Heero and I were on the outside of the crowd - most of the company was there, as well as plenty of people I didn’t recognize but assumed to be friends of the would-be groom - but I could still see the handsome, middle-aged man clearly as he knelt down in front of Meilin and presented her with an open velvet box.

I couldn’t hear what he said, but after a moment, Meilin covered her mouth with her right hand while at the same time nodding and extending her left. 

The man slipped the ring onto her finger, and then stood up to kiss her while everyone applauded.

Once they ended the kiss, the music changed, growing a little louder, and the guests cheered and offered toasts.

Across the room, just behind Meilin, I saw Wufei.

His glass wasn’t raised, and his attention wasn’t on the happy couple. His dark gaze was, instead, focused entirely on me.

I tossed back the last of my champagne. 

Of course Wufei was here. He was Meilin’s cousin - and Meilin had been the one to introduce me to him in the first place. Or rather, she had walked up to me at a party with Wufei in tow and shoved him in my direction with a smirk and a casual “Wufei, Trowa. Trowa, Wufei. Wufei’s been admiring your ass while he designs the lights, and I’m tired of hearing about it.”

Much like that night, as I watched him across the room I saw Wufei’s brows draw together in a scowl - no doubt he didn’t like seeing me finish off my drink like that, since he knew exactly how poor my judgement was when I was drunk.

So I turned away and went back outside and helped myself to another glass.

I was on my third when Wufei finally cornered me.

“Trowa.” He said my name like a plea - exasperated and just a little tender, and it made me clutch my half-empty glass of champagne tightly.

“Wufei,” I bit out, my tone  _ very _ different.

His mouth tightened, and I watched his eyes narrow slightly.

We stared at each other, and I couldn’t help but notice how good he looked in his suit. It was white, and over the black dress shirt he wore it could have looked stupid but it didn’t. It fit him well, and he looked as handsome and self-assured as ever. His hair was loose, another concession to this being a more formal occasion, since he normally just pulled it back and ignored it while working.

“I heard about  _ Le Corsaire _ . I’m designing it.”

I nodded. I wasn’t surprised. Zechs had been lit by Wufei often, over the years. Of course he would want to work with him again. Wufei was Meilin’s age - his thirtieth birthday was only a few months away - and he had been working with ABT just as long as I had.

“It’s a good role,” he continued.

“I know.” It was clear he was trying to be nice, but I wasn’t sure why. And I refused to let down my guard. 

His words, that last night in his apartment before I finally shoved the few things I kept there into my bag and stormed out, rang in my ears.

_ I can’t love you more than you love yourself. I can’t fight for us when you won’t even fight for yourself. I can’t watch you kill yourself for  _ this _. _

_ This _ , at the time, had been auditions for  _ Romeo and Juliet _ . When I had returned from Paris and then, subsequently, been promoted to soloist, I had called my parents immediately. They had been shocked - unlike Cathy, who had merely been  _ surprised, _ and instantly showered praise and congratulations on me - and there had been an awkward silence on the phone before my mother had congratulated me and my father had offered warnings of keeping low expectations. Being a soloist didn’t guarantee I would be cast in a role with a solo, or even a  _ pas de deux _ . 

It was the same kind of advice my father always gave me, the same kind that always reminded me that while, yes, it  _ seemed _ like I had something to celebrate, my father knew that, in reality, I was always on the cusp of failure.

So, the week that Kevin McKenzie sat in on classes and scribbled notes as he thought through the cast of  _ Romeo and Juliet _ that he would choreograph, I worked my ass off - coming in an hour early to do barre and center work, staying late to use the training equipment at the ABT rehearsal studios because I hadn’t gotten my membership to the gym yet. I had done everything in my power to stand out, to impress, to prove that I could do great things.

I also hadn’t eaten much. The first day of classes, Zechs had looked me over and smirked before muttering something about French food clearly agreeing with me. I  _ had _ put on weight - eleven pounds - but I had returned from France feeling healthier and stronger than I had since college, since before joining ABT. 

So it had been a rough week of little food, a lot of work, and even more fights with Wufei. 

Our season apart had been a challenge. He had taken what gigs he could in Paris, and he had flown over between his own shows to visit, so we saw each other at least once a month. But we were both too introverted, too stuck in our own heads, to instantly feel at ease with each other during those visits. It always took a few hours to relearn each other, and each time it took a little longer, until, finally, I returned to New York and we had a fight on the way back from the airport that was awful enough for me to go to Heero’s place instead of Wufei’s.

And then there was that week of trying to impress McKenzie, of trying to lose weight and fit back into a company where most of the men resented my promotion when I hadn’t even  _ been _ with ABT the season before. Wufei and I had fought every night, had lain awake in bed glaring at the ceiling until I goaded him into fucking me, and even then, we had slept at opposite sides of the bed, hugging the edges.

And then the fight.

“I’m not designing  _ Sylvia _ . I don’t know if you knew.”

I hadn’t. I hadn’t asked because I didn’t want to have to decide whether or not to avoid him or try to catch his eye next week during tech and dress rehearsals. Wufei was exhausting, even more-so now that we weren’t together, and I was tired enough as it was.

“Why not?” I knew it wasn’t because of  _ me _ .

“I’ll be in San Francisco for a few weeks, working on a show out there - a musical,” he added. 

“I hope it goes well.” I finished off the glass and wondered if I could feasibly have another. 

Not with Wufei standing in front of me.

“I’ll let you get back to your family.” I nodded towards Meilin’s mother and Wufei’s own. 

Wufei’s mother was looking over at us, her mouth curved upwards ever-so-slightly.  _ She _ liked me just fine. It was ironic, now that I thought about it - my mother loved Wufei, his mother loved me. If only that was enough.

“Trowa.” He reached out to me then, his fingers warm on my wrist, and I could feel my pulse jump at his touch. “I miss you.”

“You  _ miss _ me?” I stared at him and he nodded, moving closer, misreading my mood. “What, exactly, do you miss?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You miss me - what about me do you miss? Do you miss having to deal with my complete lack of self-confidence or self-awareness?” I was repeating his own words, though I had thought them often enough myself without having him throw them at me during our fights. “Do you miss our fights? Or staring at me pretending to eat? Or-”

“ _ Stop _ ,” he hissed, stepping even closer, so that our bodies were flush.

“Oh. You miss fucking me.” I raised an eyebrow, remembering that last fight, remembering just how cruel he had been. “Even if I was just a spineless bottom who needs a dick up my-”

Wufei put a hand over my mouth and looked around us, anxious that no one had overheard me.

I pushed his hand away and stepped back.

“ _ Fuck you _ ,” I said, my voice low. “Stay away from me.”

I set my empty champagne glass down and walked away, feeling the alcohol buzz through my veins, feeding my anger and nerves, and by the time I found a bathroom I felt dizzy.

I closed the door and leaned back against it, closing my eyes and forcing myself to breathe and  _ not _ think about the way Wufei had just looked at me.

Horrified and disgusted. As if he was, at last, finally seeing the depth of all the things he had ever accused me of being - or not being.

Once my breathing was back to normal, I opened my eyes and then I had to laugh.

I was in some kind of marble sanctuary that looked like it had been lifted from a spa - warm, low amber lighting that made every marbled and mirrored surface of the bathroom glow. Even the toilet, somehow, looked like it was fit for royalty.

I stepped away from the door and splashed cool water on my face. I ran a hand through my hair and stared at my reflection.

It was absurd. Everything about  _ me _ being here, was absurd.

Here I was, clinging to the coattails of the talented and fortunate around me. I didn’t belong here - I wasn’t my father. I wasn’t my mother or my sister. I wasn’t-

The door behind me opened, and I looked into the mirror again to see Treize.

I couldn’t help the scowl that crossed my face. I had seen him, earlier, talking to McKenzie and Zechs and Une.

“You didn’t lock the door,” he said.

Yet another thing I couldn’t do. Of course he was here to lecture me about just what a monumental failure and waste of his time I was.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

Neither of us moved, and I realized, belatedly, that Treize was  _ not _ here to lecture me about my failures. I felt heat coil in my groin.

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to?”

He didn’t even look, just reached behind him and carelessly threw the lock, even as he took a step forward and crowded me against the bathroom counter.

His eyes stayed locked on mine in the mirror as he fit his hips against mine and waited.

I remained still for a moment, staring at him, at the indecipherable look on his face that could have been lust or hatred - might as well have been both.

But then I leaned back against him, pressed my ass against his thighs, and he smirked, the look so arrogant it made my stomach turn.

Treize put his hands on my waist, pushed me down so that I had to steady myself against the counter with my arms, and ran his hands over my back and up to my shoulders, my hair. He tugged sharply, and I winced at the pain.

He kept one hand tangled in my hair while, finally looking away, he opened up the cabinets on either side of us, searching for something.

I shifted, rubbing my ass against him until I felt the length of his cock, not quite erect yet, through his trousers. 

I tried to turn, to reach back to remove his trousers, but Treize tightened his hold on me.

“No,” he said, voice idle. “I don’t need your help with that.”

I flushed. Of course he didn’t. I looked away from his cold face and saw him withdraw a small black and white jar from the drawer to my left. He set it on the counter beside me.

_ Pure Aloe Vera Gel _ .

I reached into my pocket, fumbling slightly, and pulled out my wallet.

My attempt to sleep my way through Manhattan, as Heero liked to term it, had taught me to always carry condoms. 

I pulled out one from between the singles in my wallet and put it beside the jar.

“And what if I said no condoms?” Treize asked, hand tugging at my hair until he had stood me up and angled my neck to the side.

“Then I’d point out that you don’t need my help to masturbate,” I said, the pain and irritation from his handling of my scalp, combined with the champagne and the lingering effects of my encounter with Wufei, making me combative.

Treize smirked and leaned down to press a kiss against my throat, his lips cool and dry, and it made me shiver.

“Strip,” he instructed. “Everything.”

I’d had quick bathroom fucks before - never in a penthouse like this - and they had all involved clumsy groping and trousers barely kicked down far enough.

I could see that he expected me to balk, probably even  _ wanted _ me to, so that he could say something cutting and cruel.

I undressed quickly, with a calm I absolutely did not feel, and laid my clothes on the bathroom counter as though my only concern in the world, at that moment, was keeping them wrinkle-free.

Treize’s lips turned up, his amusement just as harsh as any of his insults had ever been.

But his eyes roamed over my naked flesh and he made a humming sound, something that sounded like appreciation, and he ran his hands over my bare back, my ass and my thighs.

“Why am I not surprised to see you hard?” he laughed, as he wrapped one hand around my embarrassingly erect cock. 

He didn’t seem to want or need a response from me. He pushed me down again, fast and hard enough that I only caught myself as my face touched the marble surface of the counter.

He kept his hand on the center of my back, holding me in place.

Treize smoothed his hand along the shaft of my cock, the gentlest touch he had ever given me - softer and kinder than the little shoves in the rehearsal hall, the commanding grips on my shoulders or arms or legs.

I sucked in a breath, completely unprepared for that, for anything about Treize to be soft, and I saw him smirk again.

“Do I need to put something in your mouth?” he asked.

I thought, for a moment, that he meant  _ his _ cock, but his eyes flicked to the stack of hand towels near my head.

“No,” I growled, the idea sending another wave of anger through me.

“Very well.”

He removed both of his hands from my body, though I knew better than to move, and unfastened his trousers.

I watched as he pushed his briefs down and his cock, long and already hard and curved in a way that made me lick my lips, sprang free.

He stepped close again, resting the thick weight of his cock between the cheeks of my ass, and I moved back, pushing against him involuntarily.

I half-expected another reprimand from him, but he leaned forward, bracing himself on the counter with his hands on either side of my hips, and rocked against me.

“Prepare yourself,” he instructed.

I reached for the aloe. I unscrewed the lid and dipped my fingers in the cool gel, scooping up a generous amount so that I didn’t have to return for more, and reached back.

Treize helpfully moved his cock so that, instead of resting against the small of my back, it nudged against my balls and my own cock. He lazily moved against me, eyes glued to my fingers as I stretched and fucked myself.

I had to bite my lip as I found my prostate and stroked against it. I wasn’t going to cry out, wasn’t going to moan, wasn’t going to give Treize that kind of satisfaction, even if I didn’t think I would be overheard from inside this marble tomb.

“Now,” I said, when three fingers parted my body with ease.

Treize arched an eyebrow at my breathless tone, my command, but he reached for the condom and rolled it down his hard cock before pushing my hand away.

I felt the head of his cock, wide and hard, push at me, and I forced myself to relax, forced myself to remain still as he pushed in, burning his way into me, until I felt the hair of his groin brush against me.

“Hm.” That approving hum again, and then he moved his hands to my hips, gripping tightly, and he fucked me.

I had expected something rough - fast and hard and painful enough that it would outweigh my pleasure - but Treize was controlled, precise. His cock filled me in slow, aching thrusts that made me want more, made me  _ need _ more.

I met his eyes in the mirror, saw his amusement, saw the challenge.

I rocked back, meeting his thrust and upsetting his pace. His lips curved upwards and his hands tightened on my hips.

“Are you sure you want to play that game?” His voice was a caress, a warning that made me shiver, and I pushed back again, and again, fighting with him until his rhythm changed, until his perfect control shattered and his fingers were digging into my skin so deep there would be bruises.

I reached back and worked my own cock, tugging at my flesh in time with our hips.

My breathing was harsh, so loud and uneven in my ears I couldn’t even hear my heartbeat over it. But Treize’s was worse - his control completely gone, his eyes closed and his mouth open.

He looked nothing like the brutal choreographer from the studios or our date. Gone was that chiseled statue of perfection and authority. He was totally lost to the movement of our bodies, to the build of his climax, and I felt, for the first time in a long time, a sense of power and control of my own.

I had done this. I had broken him, and forced him to do things  _ my _ way.

He came first, hands spasming and fingernails curling into my skin so sharply that I cried out in pain, drowning out the low, guttural groan that accompanied his release.

I expected him to pull out, to leave me hard and unfinished, but instead he pushed my hand aside and took me in his own hand.

“Don’t you dare draw this out,” I warned him, anticipating a return to his earlier pace, a pace that would  _ never _ get me off.

He chuckled, the sound surprisingly warm, and pressed a kiss to my back.

“You’re learning,” he said, and surprised me further by keeping his grip tight, stroking me quickly and firmly until I was riding his spent cock and biting my lip.

I could feel it building, could feel the heat and pressure, and I felt the need to come, felt the urge to spill all over Treize’s hand.

“Kiss me,” I growled, taking both of us aback.

But Treize pulled me up so that my back was against his chest, and he turned my head and took my mouth in a sweeping kiss that was exactly what I needed to go flying over the edge.

I moaned into his mouth, biting his lower lip and sucking it into my mouth and he, amazingly, let me.

It took far too long for me to realize what I was doing, for the euphoria of orgasm to leave me, for me to pull away from his lips, his hands and his cock, and even then, I felt… 

Treize reached out and ran a knuckle over my swollen lips.

“Learn to dance like that, and there will be no stopping you,” he said.

“What?”

My breathing was as harsh and labored as though I had just danced  Desiré's variation in  _ Sleeping Beauty _ . 

He gave me a look - a look I already knew as his most patronizing. I had received it often, over the past few days.

He pulled off the condom and dropped it carelessly into the wastebasket. I watched, fascinated and just a little horrified, as he picked up a hand towel, wet it, and cleaned himself off before dropping it, too, into the trash.

“Your technique is flawless, as you know. Your extension is maddening, and while you have no perceivable acting ability in the rehearsal studio, you transform onstage. It’s impossible to look away from you.”

He stepped close, reaching around my body to wash off his hands.

“Learn how to dance the way you just fucked me, and I’ll be begging you to dance  _ Le Spectre _ .”

I stared at him, convinced this was all a cruel, and rather elaborate, joke at my expense.

He met my gaze and arched an eyebrow.

“You really don’t believe me? You really think you got this far on your looks and your parents’ names?”

“No.” I was sure that had gotten me through several rounds of auditions for colleges, and eventually, ABT. 

His gaze turned cold again, and he shook his head. “ Do you think I don’t know how much you want my praise in the studio? The way you practically  _ beg _ for approval with each  _ battement _ . Learn to recognize your own perfection, Trowa. Not every choreographer is going to be Une, ready to call you the next Baryshnikov just because you fill out a dance belt.”

I flushed at that. I had seen the way Une looked at me - at my crotch and my ass, in particular.

Treize put his clothes to rights, looked past me into the mirror and smoothed his hair back into place, and only then did he look at me again, still naked, still trying to make sense of what he had said.

“You were a better fuck than I was led to believe,” he said, his cruel smirk spreading across his face once again. 

And then he was gone.

I dressed hurriedly, angrily, wiping myself off with toilet paper and grimacing as it stuck to the aloe smeared on my ass.

_ Fuck Treize _ , I thought, hating him more now than I had before. Praising me and insulting me in almost the same breath. Telling me I was worth something, and then suggesting I was only  _ barely _ that.

Fuck him.

And fuck Wufei.

I stepped out of the bathroom and made my way back to the party to scan the guests for Heero. 

He was on the glassed-in terrace, talking to Zechs.

I narrowed my eyes as I took in the uneasy look on Heero’s face, coupled with the way he seemed to be leaning towards Zechs. He was, I could tell, already ready to go home with him.

I stalked across the room and stopped, rudely and abruptly, right beside them.

“Let’s go,” I said to Heero.

Zechs scowled at me. Heero frowned and looked me over, from my hair, which-  _ fuck _ . I hadn’t even thought to run my hands through it after Treize’s treatment.

“Now,” I added, since it had worked wonders on Treize.

Zechs arched an eyebrow in amusement. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Heero said before I could say anything. “We had plans for later, and it’s time for us to go.”

We both stared at him, caught off-guard by the clumsy lie.

Zechs’ lips twitched. “Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

He made a magnanimous gesture, and Heero grabbed my arm before I could say or do anything and hauled me away.

We didn’t even look for Meilin to congratulate her, just made our way down the stairs and then rode the elevator in silence.

It wasn’t until we were on the street, Heero’s shoulders hunched angrily, that he spoke to me.

“What the hell was that about?”

I ran a hand through my hair. It was a fair question, and I wasn’t entirely certain I had an answer.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” I finally said.

“No argument there,” Heero muttered.

“And you are too. Zechs isn’t worth your time, Heero. Fucking him isn’t going to help your career  _ or _ your personal life.”

Heero glared at me, fists clenched just as tightly as his jaw.

“When did you become a trusted source for relationship advice?” he demanded.

“When I fucked Treize in a bathroom,” I snapped. “This is all  _ bullshit _ . Does Zechs make you happy? Does he  _ appreciate _ you?”

Heero stared at me, and I didn’t know if it was my admission or my questions that had left him speechless.

“No,” he said at last. “Not really.” 

“Then stop fucking him. Go find yourself a Livingston or an Astor or something. We need a better apartment.”

It startled a laugh out of him, and I found myself smirking.

I was a mess - and I had had no right to jump down Heero’s throat like that. It was good to hear him laughing instead of calling me out for it.

We walked in quiet for several blocks before the inevitable happened.

“You really fucked Treize?” he asked, voice somewhere between awed and revolted.

I didn’t say anything.

“Is it going to happen again?”

“No,” I answered with complete confidence. I doubted Treize wanted me a second time, and even if he did, once was enough for me.

I still couldn’t wrap my head around it - the sex or Treize’s words after - and I felt unsettled and uneasy about the entire thing.

And I still, even as we walked up the five flights of stairs to our apartment, didn’t feel quite like myself.

  
  


-o-

Important Note: 

 

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	7. Chapter 5

A/N: This grew from a drabble request made by chemicalchrush.

A/N #2: Thanks to Ro for being an amazing beta, and to Maeve, for beta-reading and always being so encouraging.

A/N #3: I am in NO way an expert on ballet or music/orchestral life. I’m an expert on NONE of the careers mentioned - with the exception of Wufei’s, and even then I fully acknowledge he is way too young to have that job - so please just know I’m relying on the internet. If you have any suggestions or expertise to offer, I welcome it.

A/N #4: If you’re ever curious about what these people’s homes look like, check out “Pas de Trois Locations” on my tumblr page, where I have links to actual apartments that are for sale! In case you have several million dollars laying around. In which case, we should talk.

 

Warnings: language, angst, sexy times

 

Pairings: 2x3xR, 3x5, 3x13, 1x4, 1x6, DxC others will be added as necessary

 

_ Pas de Trois _

Chapter Five 

 

I woke up on Sunday will the insistent, throbbing reminder that I had had too much champagne last night and gone to bed without drinking any water or taking aspirin.

As I rolled over in my bed, I groaned at  _ another _ painful reminder of the stupid things I had done last night.

My ass and thighs ached, and as I shifted to the edge of the mattress, I very clearly remembered the look on Treize’s face as he pounded into me last night.

I sighed, disgusted with myself all over again, and stood up to stretch properly.

I winced through the pain, but stretched out my body as if I was preparing for class.

Normally, I  _ liked _ the subtle ache of a night spent fucking. As a dancer, it was a given that I was something of a masochist, but this was the one pain - the  _ one _ burn of muscle that didn’t have anything to do with dancing and everything to do with being wanted.

I’d lost count of how many times I had shown up to class after a night of sex with Wufei and had to grit my teeth and work through the pain for half an hour before my body adjusted and I fell back into things.

Normally, I resented anything that distracted me from dancing - when I was in Paris last year and a guest artist had decided to share the barre with me for class, drenched in cologne, I had picked up my bag and moved across the room during a break in work, just so I could focus better.

But this was different; pain and soreness from sex was like the lingering touch of a lover, and it felt like a caress that was mine alone.

Of course, it didn’t feel much like that this morning. More like a sharp rebuke.

I finished stretching, and wondered how Heero was doing this morning.

We’d come home last night and finished off the bottle of tequila in the fridge, while I told him about Treize and he told me about Zechs - about his half-assed apology and insistence that Heero couldn’t  _ possibly _ have thought Conrad would go to a junior soloist.

I suspected he was as much the worse for wear this morning as I was.

When I walked past his room, however, the door was open and his bed was made, with Heero nowhere in sight.

I continued down the hall, past the bathroom - empty - and the kitchen - also empty - until I reached the living room - also empty.

It was just after ten, according to the wall clock, and while  _ I _ liked to spend Sunday mornings sleeping in, Heero had a pathological need to wake up with the sun. He was probably out running, or at the gym.

Sundays were our one day off, and even then they were rarely entirely  _ free _ \- things like tonight’s private performance for the Winner’s cropped up occasionally, but there were also interviews, photoshoots, and offers to teach workshops that came up more often than not.

And then, of course, there was my once a month obligation to take the train down to Philadelphia on Sunday and have lunch with my parents. I was incredibly grateful that it wasn’t until next week - Wednesday night’s dinner had been enough for me, and I was still irritated by their shock and my father’s clear dismay over how well I seemed to be doing.

I took a shower - longer and more leisurely than I ever had time for during the week - and stayed under the warm spray until the hot water heater started hinting at an imminent temperature change - and then changed into shorts and a t-shirt.

I should work out - a day off was never  _ really _ a day off, not when it came to keeping my body in peak condition - but I was still feeling off-kilter today.

Letting Treize fuck me had been one thing. Engaging in that battle with him during the middle of sex had been unexpected - both for him and for me, but what really still had me rattled were the things he had said. The way he had been so uninterested, so  _ dismissive _ about my talent as a dancer.

I was still trying to wrap my head around it, around my self-disgust for letting  _ any  _ of it happen, and I knew that working out would just lead to me tunneling in on the mess even more.

So, after dressing, I grabbed a bottle of water and an apple from the fridge and put them into my backpack along with my camera bag.

The  Fuji X100S had been an exorbitant gift to myself, two years ago for my birthday, and I had barely been able to cover rent that month.  Wufei had thought I was an idiot for not getting a digital SLR, but I liked the retro feel and the compact nature of the camera. I had only gotten into photography because of Wufei in the first place. Wufei, while a rising star as a lighting designer, still made a decent amount of money as a freelance event photographer, and, for our second date, took me to Governor’s Island and taught me the rudiments of photography.

I wasn’t sure what it said about me that, feeling the way I did this morning, the only thing I wanted to do was go back to Governor’s Island and take photographs. I didn’t want to dwell on it too much, especially not in conjunction with the  _ other _ self-reflections I was avoiding, so I pushed it aside and took the subway to the ferry terminal.

I just made it on the eleven ferry, and I spent the seven-minute ride eating my apple and checking my email on my phone.

There was a note from McKenzie’s assistant that the Winners were sending a car to collect us at our apartment at six, and a dire warning  _ not _ to be late. We had taken our costumes home yesterday, after morning class and a brief rehearsal for Sylvia, and mine was currently hanging on my closet door, the garment bag beside my  _ other _ $150 suit. Treize, at our last rehearsal on Friday, had told us to come prepared to change and  _ mingle _ with the guests after our performance, and it was probably the thing I felt most anxious about tonight.

I simply wasn’t  _ good _ at making small talk. Not with strangers, not with ballet patrons. As a child, I had lost count of how many nights Cathy and I had stood around in the lobby of a theatre while our parents were flooded with admirers, and my father, who seemed to glow from the compliments, effortlessly fell into conversation with everyone as though he had known them for years. My mother, while she had the same ability, had never been quite as eager as my father to linger and soak up the praise. Cathy, too, was able to talk to people and put them at ease in her presence almost immediately, but that family trait had very much skipped me. I never felt as though they were being entirely sincere, never felt that I measured up in any way to my parents or even my sister, and I felt like a fraud whenever I had to stand in a crowd and listen to compliments about my dancing.

The ferry landed at Governor’s Island, and I followed the crowd off. The island had only reopened last week for the season, and I found myself wondering if Wufei had been out there yet.

Before I went to Paris, we had come out at least once a month, his favorite place in New York becoming mine as well, and it was impossible for me to walk along Carrier Road, on the perimeter of the island, and not think about him.

While it wasn’t the distraction I had had in mind - reminiscing on visiting the island with Wufei, on sneaking into that copse of trees to give him a blowjob, or laying on his chest on the grass over there while we read, or taking photographs of Castle Williams - all of those memories were better than dwelling on last night.

I rarely took photographs of people - Wufei had always done enough of that at work, and insisted that landscape and architectural photography were so much more vivid, and I no doubt allowed that to color my own judgement - but today I found myself walking along Carrier and stopping to capture the other New Yorkers who had escaped to the island.

It was nearly four by the time I finally acknowledged the hunger pangs in my stomach. I didn’t want to each much - even though performing the  _ pas de deux _ with Meilin tonight was hardly the same thing as performing a full-length ballet, I still didn’t want to be full.

I stopped by the Ligget Terrace food court on my way back to the ferry, grabbing a salad for the ride back.

It was just after five when I made it back to the apartment, and Heero had returned from wherever he had been that morning. His bedroom door was closed, and I could hear the sound of a hair-dryer running.

I had to smirk - we had learned, the hard way, that the outlets in the bathroom were not to be trusted under any circumstances.

I knocked and then opened the door to see Heero, naked except for his dance belt, engaged in the never-ceasing struggle to tame his hair. When we had done  _ Cinderella _ as apprentices, the hair supervisor had been on the verge of taking a razor to Heero’s head. 

He looked over at me, then frowned and looked away.

I knew that look.

I walked into the room and leaned against his dresser, crossing my arms and waiting for him to turn off the hair dryer.

He managed to tame his hair into a semblance of a pompadour, the one hairstyle that his hair seemed to accept, and then turned to me.

“What did you do?” I asked.

Heero sighed and stepped into his suit trousers. 

“I had lunch with him.”

He didn’t need to say who  _ him _ was.

“Heero-”

“I told him I was done. With this, with  _ us _ .”

_ That _ wiped away my anger immediately.

“Oh.”

Heero spared me a smug look as he pulled on his dress shirt.

“And?” That didn’t explain his frown when I had walked in, that look of  _ I did something and I know it was stupid, let’s just move on _ .

Heero shrugged and looked down to button up his shirt.

“He said…” Heero sighed. “He said he was an asshole, and that I deserved better.”

“No argument there,” I muttered.

“And that he wants to  _ be _ better. He said I make  _ him _ better.”

I opened my mouth to say something scathing, but the look on Heero’s face made me close my mouth.

_ Shit. _ Heero had bought it, had believed Zechs and- 

“Heero.”

“Look, he  _ is _ an asshole - he’s selfish and arrogant, and I’ve never met  _ anyone _ more in love with himself-”

“Spend some more time with Treize,” I muttered, but I honestly wasn’t sure which of them was the more self-obsessed.

“But I… no one else has ever made me feel like he does.”

I closed my eyes. Heartfelt confessions weren’t exactly easy for Heero, or ordinary. If he was saying all of this... He felt it, and felt it deeply enough to be intimidated by it.

I sighed. He didn’t need me to stand here and shit all over this. Though Heero handled it differently, he was just as full of self-doubt as I was most of the time, and he likely had all of the same problems with Zechs that I did. He’d probably thought through  _ all _ of the ways this was a really, really bad idea.

And decided it didn’t matter.

There was no way this was going to end any other way than Heero being miserable. 

But it was Heero’s life - it was his choice, and while it was a really fucking  _ bad _ one, I was only going to end up pissing Heero off if I tried to argue against it right now.

“Blue tie,” I told him when he held up the two options.

“Thanks.” He started to tie it, holding my gaze, waiting for me to finally say something.

“He  _ is _ an asshole,” I said at last, pushing myself away from the dresser and heading for the door, “but if he stops being an asshole to  _ you, _ then I guess it doesn’t matter.”

It was the best I could offer, and while it was pretty weak, it seemed to be enough for Heero.

 

-o-

 

The Winners sent a black Escalade to get us. I was pretty sure the interior was easily twice the size of my bedroom, and as we stepped out of the car and followed the  _ butler _ through the side entrance of the Winner Mansion, I made a mental note to stop spending so much time around disgustingly rich people.

Located  _ just _ off Central Park, the Winner Mansion was a five-story monolith built one hundred years ago, or so the butler told Heero and I as he led us through the servants’ hall - an  _ actual _ servants’ hall. He took us down a flight of stairs, through the kitchen, which was easily three times as large as our entire apartment, and to an open room set up as a dressing room - a long bank of lighted mirrors, an array of towels, a clothing rack and even a barre. I had performed in professional venues with a worse setup.

“You may leave your things, and I will escort you upstairs to the performance space, where the ballerinas are waiting for you.”

We followed the butler up another set of stairs, through a maze of small rooms - including a fully stocked bar - and into a huge, open room that he called the  _ grand salon _ .

It was easily more than forty feet across, and more than twenty feet deep. Rows of chairs had been set up against one wall - at least fifty, it looked like. The opposite wall was, in fact, a bank of floor to ceiling windows, and on the floor below the windows, rolls of marley had been taped down to create a stage floor.

Meilin and Iria were already there, both in cocktail dresses and heels, walking the length of the space.

I thought it looked to be about eighteen feet wide and maybe forty feet long - nowhere near the size of the Metropolitan Opera House where we were used to performing, but a fairly sizeable performance stage. Especially in someone’s  _ home _ .

Meilin looked over and held out her hand, and I had to smirk at the imperious way she just  _ expected _ me to come to her side. 

But, of course, I walked over and, together, we walked through the steps of our  _ pas de deux _ . We would hardly have to adjust anything - I would simply have to make sure to reign myself in during the series of leaps I had for my variation so that I didn’t end up in someone’s lap - and after a few minutes, we moved to the side so that Heero and Iria could do the same for their  _ pas de deux _ .

“Congratulations,” I said to Meilin, giving the huge rock on her hand a significant glance.

She smile, and instead of the smug little curve I was so used to seeing, her lips formed into a wide, genuine smile that I had never seen before.

“Thanks. Terry- he’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

I had thought that Meilin lived and  _ breathed _ ballet, so I was surprised that hadn’t come with a caveat.

“When’s the wedding?”

“Sometime in January, during our break,” she gave a shrug. “My mother -  _ both _ of our mothers - have all sorts of ideas about what it should be like. If it were up to us, we’d just go down to city hall. Actually, we still might do it that way for us, and then give them their big day.”

I realized that I really didn’t know Meilin well at all. I had assumed she would love a huge wedding, another chance to be on display for her admiring fans. It had certainly seemed that way last night.

She must have caught something of my thoughts in my expression.

“Not everything has to be a performance,” she said.

I nodded, not really understanding - but I didn’t think Meilin particularly cared if I did or not.

Heero and Iria finished walking through their  _ pas de deux, _ and I noticed that the butler was still lingering. 

“Yes, Rashid?” Iria asked him.

“Dinner will be served at seven, with the performance to follow at eight-thirty. You are, of course, expected to join the family for dinner, but your... colleagues-”

“Are a surprise for Mommy, yes, they know,” Iria said.

Rashid nodded. “Yes. Well. They are welcome to join the staff in the kitchen for their meal.”

I felt like I was in an episode of  _ Downton Abbey _ . Had he really just called us the help?

I saw Meilin’s mouth quirk, and knew that she was swallowing down some sharp retort. I still remembered three years ago, when ABT had performed in Berlin during our summer European tour and she had verbally eviscerated a stagehand for having the gall to call her  _ Schätzchen _ .

“I’m sure that will be fine,” Iria said, and I couldn’t tell if she really believed that - or if she cared. After all,  _ she _ would be eating upstairs with all of the guests.

Iria walked through a side door of the room, but Rashid gestured for the three of us to follow him.

“Wonder if they have any pots and pans for us to scrub?” Meilin muttered, and I had to smirk as Rashid led us back downstairs and to the dressing room.

“I will return to fetch you when the time comes,” he said. “Please feel free to make yourselves at home - down here,” he gestured in the direction of the kitchen. “But please do  _ not _ come upstairs and ruin the surprise.”

“We won’t,” Heero assured him, and I could tell by his tone and the roll of his eyes that he was just as irked as both Meilin and I by this treatment.

Rashid left us, and Meilin shook her head. 

“I am  _ not _ going to miss this crap,” she said, and walked over to a garment bag shaped around a pancake tutu.

“What do you mean?” Heero asked.

Meilin shrugged one shoulder and started to unpack the bag, laying out her makeup, tights and pointe shoes, before hanging up the bodice of her costume and then laying the garment bag on the floor and setting the tutu on top of it to rest.

It was only just now approaching seven, and we had nearly an hour before any of us needed to start dressing or putting on makeup.

Still, Heero and I both followed her example and set up our own stations.

“I mean that when -  _ if _ \- I stop dancing to have kids, I’m not going to miss being treated like a star  _ and _ a servant at the same time.”

“You’re going to retire?” Heero sounded as shocked as I felt.

She smirked. “Not tomorrow. But in two or three years? Probably.”

And here I had been thinking that Meilin would have to be wheeled off the stage and shipped off to a nursing home before she would stop dancing.

She saw the looks on both of our faces and rolled her eyes.

“Oh right, because it is  _ such _ a tremendous joy to torture my body every single day, to have  _ no _ life outside of the theatre and the studio, to have to pretend I care what pretentious shits like Treize and Zechs and Une think and want from me - do you have any idea how damn good it’s going to feel to get fat?”

I thought of Cathy, and my mother’s comment about her looking  _ comfortable _ .

“Anyway,” she continued, her tone changing back to the brisk one I was so used to, “I’m not retiring until after I’ve danced  _ Raymonda _ .”

I had to smirk. Of course. It wasn’t that the ballet was extraordinary or that the title role of Raymonda was all that special, but the ballet was rarely performed in its entirety, and I wasn’t sure that ABT had  _ ever _ considered it. Of course, maybe that was part of it - Meilin’s way to  _ say  _ she would retire soon, while at the same time the perfect excuse for her to keep on dancing.

Our things unpacked, I went ahead and shucked out of my jacket and removed my tie - if we weren’t even mingling at the moment, I saw absolutely no need to look all that presentable. 

Heero also removed his jacket, but he left on his tie.

“I think there’s a garden back here,” Meilin gestured in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m not sure if we’re  _ allowed, _ but it’s better than hanging out in here until eight-thirty.”

I completely agreed, and we followed her out of the dressing room, through the kitchen and, not even bothering to ask if it was okay, out into the garden.

Above us, there was a terrace, and I craned my neck to look up and see that it was just outside of the  _ grand salon _ .

I was reminded, a little, of Duo and Relena’s rooftop garden in Brooklyn. This, however, had nothing of the wild, urban sanctuary feel that their garden had. In the fading light, I could see that everything looked perfectly sculpted, almost clinical, and though it was better than being in the dressing room, it had none of the appeal of the other garden.

We followed Meilin to a circle of chairs and sat down.

Without asking for permission, she threw her legs into my lap, and I arched an eyebrow.

“What? It’s not like I’m asking you to massage them,” she pointed out.

I shrugged. Dancers were used to casual intimacy, to touching each other, holding each other, and if we had been in the studio, sitting to the side, and Meilin had just done it, I wouldn’t have thought a thing of it. It was a little different, though, with her in a red satin dress and me in a suit - or part of a suit.

“Besides, you and Yuy are completely gay.”

Heero snorted at that, and I had to smirk.

Meilin lifted an eyebrow.

“I am,” Heero confirmed, and then waved one hand in my direction. “That one will fuck anyone, in the right circumstances. Or wrong ones,” he added, no doubt thinking about Treize. At least,  _ I _ was.

“Really? I did  _ not _ know that about you. Who all have you slept with in the company - oh God, you’ve slept with Une, haven’t you?”

I made a face. There was no way - there would  _ never _ be a circumstance right or wrong enough for that to happen.

“No,” I didn’t bother to hide my dismay at the very thought, “of course not. And I’m not telling you who I’ve slept with in the company.”

“Alex,” she guessed, and I made a face. I had, once, as an apprentice. The experience had not endeared us to each other.

“Zechs?”

“No.” I very carefully did not look at Heero. While Alex and Ralph clearly knew about their relationship, I wasn’t sure  _ how _ common the knowledge was, and I didn’t want Meilin to learn about it from me being careless.

“Iria?” she asked with a smirk, and I shook my head.

“Sylvia?” Heero joined in, and I gave him a look of betrayal. He smirked.

“Oh! You and  _ Sylvia _ ! Do tell - was it like screwing a glacier?”

I glared at both of them.

“No, it was not.” Sylvia had a bit of a reputation for being cold - she very publicly shot down and derided any dancer that dared to proposition her - but, with me, she had been anything but. I couldn’t help the fond smile that came to my face when I thought back to the brief three-month fling we had had four years ago. “It was fun,” I concluded, unwilling to say more.

“Thomas,” Meilin named one of the male principals, and I gave her a look.

“No, I wouldn’t sleep with him either - would you, Heero?”

“He wasn’t awful,” Heero shrugged. “Just… no stamina.”

We both turned to look at him. 

“What? I’m not a monk.”

“No,” I agreed, “but Thomas? When did that happen?”

“When you were in Paris. It wasn’t important enough to mention.”

Meilin snorted. “There’s a quality review for his performance.  _ Not important enough to mention _ .” She snickered, and then nudged my thigh with her foot. “What about in Paris? Any worthy conquests over there?”

I shrugged. I had still been with Wufei at the time, and while  _ he _ had been the one to suggest we have a more… flexible relationship while I was away for the year, it had felt like a betrayal for me to seek out the company of anyone else. The few times I  _ had _ had sex with someone else hadn’t exactly been my preference. Except for Illarion. 

I hadn’t told Heero about him - certainly hadn’t told Wufei - but he had been one of the bright spots to my stay in Paris.

I could see that Heero was just as curious now as Meilin.

“There was this guy,” I started, and Meilin rolled her eyes and grinned. “A balletomane - he came to every opening  _ and _ every closing for whatever company I performed in.”

“I’m lucky to get Terry to see two shows a season,” Meilin muttered. I wondered at that, but then I realized she probably  _ liked _ having someone so disconnected from our world to come home to.

“What was his name?” Heero asked.

“Illarion.” I tried to pronounce it like he had, with his Russian accent, and did an admirable job. “Larya,” I added, his nickname that only his mother and I had used.

“Oooh. Sounds sexy,” Meilin said.

“He was,” I agreed. He had been in his mid-thirties, more than ten years older than me, and even after knowing him for seven months I still had no idea what he did for a living - only that he made enough to keep his mother in luxury, and to try to woo me with gifts and dinners and weekends in Provence. 

“What happened? Why aren’t you still in Paris now? Wait- what about Wufei?” she suddenly seemed to remember her cousin.

“Wufei wanted to have an open relationship. I’m sure he had a few  _ worthy conquests _ of his own while I was gone,” I said, and gave her a pointed look.

She frowned, but was forced to nod. I had thought as much - we had never talked about it, even during our worst fights at the end, but if I had had Illarion, I was confident he had had someone, or a few someones.

“But Wufei is why I’m not still in Paris. One of the reasons,” I added, because even if I hadn’t been in a relationship with Wufei, I still wouldn’t have been happy staying in Paris, not after what had happened between the artistic director and I. “Larya was… fun, but it was only ever a fling.” I hadn’t even kept the gifts he had given me - opening them and then politely refusing them every time - except for his last gift, given to me on our last night together, a clown’s mask that he had insisted Nureyev had once worn for a performance. I didn’t know if it was or not, but it had felt churlish to refuse it, and at the very least, it would remind me of the few good times I had had in Paris.

“I feel so very dull,” Meilin sighed. 

“Because you aren’t a slut like Trowa or me?” Heero asked.

She laughed at that, and I had to smile. 

“I’m sorry you won’t be dancing Conrad,” she said to him, and Heero stiffened, then forced himself to relax and shrug.

Meilin, I remembered, was Medora in the  _ A company _ . They would have been fantastic together in the  _ pas de deux _ , I couldn’t help but think.

“You’re dancing with Zechs again,” Heero pointed out. 

“Mmhm. And if I’m lucky, he won’t choreograph it so I’m completely upstaged the  _ entire _ time by his wondrous self.”

I had to smother a laugh as I pictured the murderous look on Meilin’s face if Zechs did do that.

She sighed and swept her legs off of my lap.

“Alright. We should probably get ready.” She stood up and smirked down at both of us. “Looks like you two will be sharing a dressing room with me again.”

 

-o -

 

Heero and Iria performed first, while Meilin and I, standing behind the partially-closed door separating the  _ grand salon _ from the bar, waited and listened.

“Damn,” Meilin murmured as she tried to peek through the door, “he would have been an amazing Conrad. I would love to dance this with him.”

“Maybe Zechs will break something,” I muttered uncharitably.

Meilin arched an eyebrow at me, and I shrugged.

“You’re not the only one worried about getting upstaged,” I offered.

“Hm. I did think it was interesting he put you in the _A_ _company_ \- you’re going to be a very dangerous Birbanto.”

I hoped so.

The music reached the finish, and I heard the small audience applaud. And applaud. And applaud.

Meilin whistled softly. “That’s the most curtain calls Iria’s ever likely to get.”

“Ouch.”

She gave me a look and I had to agree, at least silently, that she was right. Iria would never be in Meilin’s league, would never be a  _ prima _ or anything close.

We heard Iria speaking as the applause died down, and Meilin drew in a deep breath.

“Ready to show them how it’s done?” she asked.

I held out my hand and smirked.

On our way to the floor, we passed Heero and Iria, but my gaze was focused entirely on the patch of marley in front of us - I ignored the audience and my friend, and instead concentrated on the Bluebird.

Our costumes were, for something so hastily arranged, phenomenal. We were both in blue, from head to toe - including Meilin’s pointe shoes and my slippers - but the blue was an ombre, going from midnight at our feet to the palest silver blue on Meilin’s bodice and the feathers around my neck and arms. If we had been performing on a real stage, under lights, our makeup would have been intense and otherworldly. But, standing just a few feet away from our audience and under incandescent lights, we would have looked ridiculous going that far. Instead, Meilin had darkened her lips and added blue and white to her eyes, barely contouring her features, and I had almost entirely skipped contouring, except for my cheeks, and brushed just a bit of blue around my own eyes before lining them.

We took our positions, just offstage of the marley, and waited for the music to start.

It was strange. When dancing, time always seemed to contort for me. Sometimes it felt condensed and three minutes felt like thirty seconds, but sometimes it stretched so long that three minutes felt like half an hour.

Tonight, dancing with Meilin in a  _ pas de deux _ I had dreamed about since I was a child, it went by fast, too fast, and before I knew it, I was catching her in my arms and easing the both of us down to kneel, our arms spreading together above our heads as though in flight, and the music was fading away to nothing.

It had felt  _ perfect _ , and I knew that I rarely danced that well and I hated that it was over, that it had been so brief and so, ultimately, meaningless. I had the stupid wish that my parents had seen this and I couldn’t help but flush.

I helped Meilin to her feet and guided her to her bow. We took one together, and then I stood back so that she could receive her bow alone, and then we bowed together again. They were still clapping, so we did the whole thing again - and again. 

Five times, before I saw Iria and Heero return, Iria looking irritated that Meilin was commanding so many curtain calls from  _ Iria _ ’s friends and family.  We all took one last bow together, and then Iria stepped forward and hugged a plump, blonde haired woman who was clearly her mother.

It was only then that I allowed myself to really look at the audience, at the small sea of tuxedos and ball gowns, and I couldn’t help but feel like I was at an opening night gala. I didn’t know much about fashion, and only enough about clothes to make myself a menace around the customers - according to them - but I knew enough to know that the people in front of me were dressed in the height of fashion.

My eyes were drawn to a stunning woman dressed in a soft, white dress that fit her through the waist and hips before softly flaring out around her knees, but it was the bodice that drew my attention - it was sheer except for gold lace that twined over her skin in an obscuring pattern that, far from making the dress suggestive, made it elegant and mesmerizing. 

No less mesmerizing was her face, from her full lips, upturned nose and startling blue eyes to the dark blonde hair that was pulled away from her face into a smooth bun, with only a swoop of bangs across her smooth forehead.

I stared, and she stared back, until a man stepped up beside her and slid an arm around her waist. 

And then I recognized her.

It was Relena.

And the man with an arm around her was Duo.

 

-o-

Important Note: 

 

I have started a Patreon page under the name Clara Barton.

Becoming a Patron not only provides me with encouragement and financial support, but it gives YOU the chance to decide which fics I update next, exclusive one-shots, gift fics and personalized one-shots - as well as the chance to read my work before it gets posted anywhere else.

I’m sure money is tight for everyone, but even just a few dollars a month makes a huge difference for me.

Find me by typing in the following url: patreon dot com backslash ClaraBarton (You will not be able to find me by searching since my content is marked as NSFW).

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

A/N: This grew from a drabble request made by chemicalchrush.

A/N #2: Thanks to Ro for being an amazing beta, and to Maeve, for beta-reading and always being so encouraging.

A/N #3: I am in NO way an expert on ballet or music/orchestral life. I’m an expert on NONE of the careers mentioned - with the exception of Wufei’s, and even then I fully acknowledge he is way too young to have that job - so please just know I’m relying on the internet. If you have any suggestions or expertise to offer, I welcome it.

A/N #4: If you’re ever curious about what these people’s homes look like, check out “Pas de Trois Locations” on my tumblr page, where I have links to actual apartments that are for sale! In case you have several million dollars laying around. In which case, we should talk.

 

Warnings: language, angst, sexy times

 

Pairings: 2x3xR, 3x5, 3x13, 1x4, 1x6, DxC others will be added as necessary

 

_ Pas de Trois _

Chapter Six

 

Iria dragged us over and introduced us to Soraya and Zayeed Winner, who thanked us and complimented us on our performances, and then we were encouraged to go downstairs and change before returning to mingle with the guests.

I didn’t see Duo or Relena as we made our way out of the room, and I wondered if I would be able to find them again when we came back upstairs.

“Planning on making a new conquest?” Meilin asked, as I tried to fix my hair after pulling off my leotard.

I gave her a look, but Heero, standing just behind her and changing out of his costume, caught my gaze.

“Wasn’t that your waiter?”

“Bartender,” I corrected irritably, “and he isn’t mine.”

Meilin looked intrigued, but I turned away and started to put my suit back on, taking care to tuck my shirt in properly before I put on my jacket and tie. I checked myself in the mirror again and saw a smudge of makeup still around my left eye, and I scrubbed at it.

“You look fine,” Meilin said. “Trust me, no one has ever turned down a dancer because he had on eye makeup.”

She had a point, but I had been on the receiving end of too many lecherous advances from men who liked their boys to be pretty and polished - and I didn’t want to look like that. Not for them.

“You look good,” Heero said, and I looked over to see him nod at me. 

I forced myself to relax.

“You aren’t even going to wait and escort me up?” Meilin called as I started to leave.

“No.” I didn’t bother to turn around or pause - Heero could take her up, and besides, the day that Meilin  _ needed _ an escort was the day that the sun exploded.

I made my way back upstairs, annoyed that I was a little out of breath and that my heart was pounding, and even more annoyed with myself when I entered the  _ grand salon _ and started to search for them. 

My single-mindedness was annoying, and juvenile. And fruitless.

I couldn’t see them anywhere - no trace of Relena’s perfect white gown or Duo’s black form and long braid.

I did, however, see Treize advancing towards me with a smirk on his face.

“I told you,” he said, and slipped a proprietary arm around my waist.

I gritted my teeth and fought the urge to step away. I couldn’t. Not here, not now. 

“Told me what?”

His smirk grew and he leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear.

“That if you danced like you fucked, you would be unstoppable.”

I forced myself not to react - to his words or his proximity.

But- 

But he was right. I  _ had _ danced differently with Meilin. I had felt the difference, and I had felt how much better it was.

And I hated Treize for noticing, for bringing it to  _ my _ attention.

Treize propelled me towards a group of people, his hand still at the small of my back, and started to show me off like a prized pet.

I forced a smile on my face and small talk from my lips, but I couldn’t stop looking around the room, hoping for a glimpse of them again. 

Treize led me to another group, and I shook hands and accepted praise and smiled until my mouth started to hurt.

“Trowa?”

I turned at the sound of my name, half-hoping it was Duo, but it wasn’t.

A man with blond hair, pale eyes and a bright smile looked back at me. He looked familiar…

“Quatre?” I remembered him from Duo’s party.

He smiled and nodded, and I jumped at the opportunity to step away from Treize, who scowled at me.

This party was turning into the most bizarre reunion of my life: Treize, my horrible date from that night, Duo, my savior, Relena, the girl I had kissed, and Quatre, who had flirted with me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, stupidly.

His smile grew, and it was clear he was ready to laugh at me.

“I live here. Well, I used to - this is my parents’ anniversary party.”

I stared. 

“I… did not know that.”

“I guessed as much,” he said, and it was clear he was only barely holding himself together. He cleared his throat and made an effort to look serious. “Speaking of things people don’t know, I had no idea you were a dancer. You’re a principal with ABT?”

I shook my head. “A soloist.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “I’m sorry - I’m a terrible brother, and I don’t… I’m not a huge fan of ballet. So I don’t go to see Iria often, or I’m sure I would have recognized you at Duo’s party.”

I shrugged. “Maybe. The makeup and costume can be pretty obscuring.”

He nodded and looked me over, flushing slightly.

“I don’t think I would say the costume was all that  _ obscuring _ ,” he said, and I knew, from his flushed face, that he was referring to the tights I had worn and the way they had curved over my legs, ass and groin. 

“I thought I saw Relena and Duo,” I said, trying to change the subject. I appreciated the compliment of his obvious attraction, but I wasn’t any more interested in him now than I had been the night of Duo’s party.

“Oh, of course, you probably did. We grew up together, and our parents,” he waved a hand vaguely at a circle that included Soraya and Zayeed, “have known each other since before I was born.”

I nodded. Of course. I remembered hearing something about the wealthiest sixty-two people in the world having more wealth than half of the world’s population. While I wasn’t sure Quatre, Duo or Relena were part of that elite sixty-two, it made a morbid kind of sense to realize their circle was so tightly knit. I wondered if they knew Meilin’s fiance.

“I don’t see them anymore,” I said bluntly, looking around yet again.

“Oh…” Quatre looked around as well. “They probably went up to the roof - if they haven’t already left.”

The possibility of them having left hit me hard. I had  _ just _ seen them - had just realized I had another chance, to explain things to Duo, to see them again, and now they were  _ gone _ again?

Quatre arched an eyebrow at me. “Want me to take you up and we can see?”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

Quatre shrugged. “It means tearing myself away from scintillating conversations about whether or not it’s better to winter in the Maldives or Fiji, or who’s been sleeping with whose caddy.”

“You would make that sacrifice for me?” I asked, deadpan, and he grinned.

“This  _ once _ .”

I smiled back. I liked him - maybe not as someone I wanted to sleep with, but he was kind and charming.

“Should we rescue your friend?” he asked, and gestured behind me.

I turned to see Heero surrounded by blonde haired women.

“My sisters,” Quatre sighed. 

“How many do you have?”

“Far, far too many. My parents kept trying for a boy until they finally had me. Eight,” he added, when he saw me start to count.

“ _ Eight _ sisters?” I thought that one was excessive, some days.

He nodded, and gave a long-suffering sigh.

“I know, but apparently I was worth it.”

He smirked at me, and led the way over to Heero.

“Ladies, if you don’t mind, I have to take these two over to meet Granny.” Quatre stepped into the group confidently, and put an arm around Heero’s shoulders, as if he had known him for years, and propelled him away without even waiting for a response.

Heero arched an eyebrow at me.

“Heero, Quatre. Quatre, Heero.”

Quatre dropped his arm from around Heero’s shoulders and smiled.

“Sorry - we thought you might want a rescue from my sisters. Unless, were you flirting with one of them? I can drop in a good word for you.”

“No,” Heero said, sounding horrified, and then he clearly realized that probably wasn’t the most polite response. “No,” he said again, modulating his tone, “I’m not… I’m gay.”

“Oh.” Quatre’s smiled turned bright, and I wanted to roll my eyes.

Quatre led us past Rashid, who looked deeply disapproving, and to an elevator.

“You have an elevator in your house?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Three, actually - this one, and two service elevators. The house  _ is _ five storeys tall,” he added, almost defensively.

The walk up where Heero and I lived was on the eighth floor. It had no elevator, and moving in had almost meant the end of our friendship as we hauled furniture up.

We rode the elevator up to the fifth floor, and the doors opened to reveal a marble hall with several closed doors and, at the far end, a glass door that I could only assume led to the roof.

Quatre made for the door, and when he opened it, I was momentarily reminded of the amazing view from Meilin’s penthouse apartment. Except, instead of the entire city, the view from Quatre’s roof was of Central Park. 

“Nice view,” Heero said, and I nodded in agreement.

“Thanks,” Quatre said with a shrug. He gestured, and we followed him around the balcony until we came to a little nook, tucked away from sight and barely illuminated, and-

Duo and Relena were there, Relena sitting on Duo’s suit jacket and Duo standing beside her, both looking over the stone railing and out into the park.

“Hey,” Quatre called out, and they looked over at us.

Even in the dim light, I could make out Duo’s scowl as his eyes swept over us, lingering on Heero for a moment before meeting mine.

“Hey,” Relena responded, but Duo remained silent.

“Hiding from your parents?” Quatre asked, and hoisted himself onto the rail beside Relena.

Duo looked away from me and at Quatre. He sighed.

“When you asked me to come to this thing, you didn’t tell me they would be here.”

Quatre snorted. “Duo, our fathers went to school together - your mother was a bridesmaid at their wedding. You really think they weren’t invited to my parents’ anniversary party?”

Duo shrugged one shoulder and turned to look at me again.

Time seemed to stand still, in that moment, as he looked at me and I realized that, of all the incredibly stupid things I had done recently, running away from Duo and Relena that morning had to be at the top of the list.

“I’m sorry,” I said, not caring that Heero and Quatre were there. I slanted my eyes towards Relena, including her in the apology. But she looked at Duo, waiting for him to react.

“We’re not dating,” Heero spoke up, stepping forward. “Trowa is my roommate - and my best friend, but we aren’t- we’ve never dated.”

I shot him a grateful look and he smirked at me.

“Okay,” Duo said, and shrugged.

I couldn’t tell if he believed me or even if he cared, and - it hurt. Much more than I thought it should.

I swallowed back the pain and nodded.

“Okay,” I repeated.

“So…” Quatre spoke into the awkward silence that followed. “I saw your mom flirting with Tor Peterson.”

Relena sighed. “Probably - they went skiing together over the winter.”

“So does this mean you’re moving to Switzerland?”

Relena shot him a withering look. “They won’t be getting married.” She said it with such bitter confidence that I was taken aback. 

She seemed so incredibly different from the girl I had kissed that night - it wasn’t just the way she wore her hair or the clothes she wore - something about her had changed, and I couldn’t tell which was real: Relena then or Relena now.

I watched Duo reach over and squeeze her knee. She caught his hand and laced their fingers together.

I wondered, not for the first time since I met them, just what kind of relationship they had.

Quatre seemed to be at a loss for how to respond to that.

“So… you two were amazing.” He turned to Heero and I, and it looked like he was struggling to steer the conversation in a less strained direction.

Heero smirked. “Your sister did all of the hard work.”

I just barely refrained from rolling my eyes at the lie, and even Quatre, who had admitted to not appreciating ballet, snorted.

“Not from my chair. I never realized how… powerful ballet dancers were.”

Heero shrugged, and he leaned against the railing beside Quatre.

“Depends on the dancer.” 

I had  _ never _ known Heero to be so self-effacing before, and I just barely refrained from commenting.

Quatre nodded. “I guess I don’t… I don’t really know much about ballet.” He turned to Relena. “You went through that phase, didn’t you?”

She gave him a look. “If you mean that I was  _ dragged _ through that phase and sent to classes three times a week for five years, then yes, I went through that phase. But it wasn’t  _ my _ choice. No offense,” she added, with a look in my direction.

I shrugged. “It’s not for everyone.”

“But it’s for you?” Duo asked.

“Yes,” I said simply. I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say.

“Why?” Quatre asked, but he was looking at Heero. 

Heero seemed taken aback by the question, and he frowned.

“Dancing is the best way to feel free. To just… escape everything and simply exist.”

I realized that I had never asked Heero why he danced, and as I thought about his answer, it made a lot of sense to me, explained even more of who he was to me.

“Like getting lost in music,” Relena nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

They shared a look, and Heero smiled slightly. 

“You play?” he asked.

“The viola.” She nudged Quatre’s shoulder gently. “And he plays the violin. We’re with the New York Philharmonic.”

I was impressed, and grateful that I now had an explanation for why Relena had smelled like pine that night -  resin, which had made  _ me _ think of the resin boxes we used in ballet, but that  _ she _ used for her bow.

“You work next door to us,” I realized.

Lincoln Center, where ABT performed, housed the Metropolitan Opera House - where we danced, the David H. Koch Theater - where the New York City Ballet and New York City Opera performed, David Geffen Hall - where the New York Philharmonic performed, and dozens of other venues.

Relena nodded. “And I’ve seen you perform. I knew you looked familiar - I think I saw you in the Balanchine piece -  _ Symphony in C _ ? Three years ago.”

I nodded. I had danced the second movement, with Iria - Quatre’s sister.

“So why do you dance?” Duo asked me. “To feel free?” he gestured towards Heero.

I  _ never _ felt free, least of all when I danced. The thought gave me pause, because I  _ had _ felt free, recently - when I had been with Relena and Duo on their rooftop. 

“No,” I said, as I pushed the thought away. “It’s not that, not for me.” I had been asked this question, over the years - by teachers, friends, reporters, my parents - and I knew that the truth wasn’t really something anyone wanted to hear.

Because I didn’t feel free onstage.

I felt as though it was the only place, the only time, when I knew who I was and what I was supposed to do. I had said that, to Wufei, when he had asked me, and he had scowled and said that wasn’t healthy, that it wasn’t  _ real _ , being onstage, and that it would end one day and  _ then _ where would I be?

The answer I had given my parents - I want to be like  _ you _ \- hadn’t impressed either one of them. 

I had learned, over the years, what kinds of answers were more appropriate -  _ I enjoy it _ ,  _  I love the challenge _ .

“It makes me feel alive,” I told Duo, not quite a lie but not the entire truth. I didn’t think he would appreciate one the flip responses, and Wufei had taught me  _ not _ to let on just how very damaged I was.

Duo nodded slowly. “I can see how that’s… important.” 

I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but then he offered me the faintest of smiles and I found myself relaxing. 

Silence fell on us again, and I realized that, despite the fact that Quatre and Relena were musicians, Heero and I actually had very little in common with them, and Duo probably had even less.

“Was that a Rothko I saw when we got out of the elevator?” Heero spoke up abruptly.

Quatre stared at him, and then smiled.

“Yeah,  _ Green and Maroon _ . But it’s not my favorite. We have another -  _ Slow Swirl at the Edge of the Sea _ ? Have you ever seen it?”

Heero shook his head no, and Quatre jumped down from the railing. “Let me show you.” He seemed relieved by Heero’s intervention, and I was too. 

Heero gave me a meaningful look - a  _ don’t fuck this up, and also, you owe me _ look - over his shoulder as he followed Quatre back to the door.

Leaving Relena, Duo and I alone.

I wasn’t entirely sure  _ how _ to make the most of this opportunity, or even what this opportunity was.

“I saw that guy with you,” Duo said.

I frowned. “Who?”

Duo waved his hand in a vague gesture. “That asshole from the restaurant - he had his hand on you, and was parading you around like you were his… pet or something.”

Oh. He had seen Treize.

“That’s what it felt like,” I agreed.

Duo arched an eyebrow. “So you gave him another chance after I, um, after I jumped to conclusions about your friend?”

He sounded genuinely regretful, and I shook my head.

“No,” I assured him, and then I sighed, because the truth probably wouldn’t make this situation any better. “He’s… sort of my boss. He’s a guest choreographer.”

Both Duo and Relena stared at me for a moment, and then Duo sighed.

“So I guess that means I can’t go downstairs and dump something else on him?”

I smiled, and then laughed at the mental image. But I was also touched, just as I had been the night Duo had rescued me. I had never had anyone - aside from Cathy - stand up for me like that, and he was offering to do it again.

“So, why did you leave without saying goodbye? If you aren’t dating that guy?” Relena asked, and I could tell that the question had been bothering her. It had been bothering  _ me _ .

_ I’m a pathetic loser _ , while the truth, probably wouldn’t earn me any points. 

“I don’t know,” I said with a sigh. “I’ve never… I don’t know.” I might as  _ well _ have called myself a pathetic loser. After that complete failure of an explanation, I certainly felt like one.

“Maybe you changed your mind? About the whole us thing?” Duo asked, and waved his thumb back and forth between himself and Relena.

“No,” I said quickly, too quickly and Duo smirked.

I felt tension coil in my belly at that look, at his confidence and the flicker of desire in his eyes.

“No…?” he repeated, clearly wanting me to elaborate.

I realized that if he had been Treize, I would have glared and grown irritated. But Duo wasn’t Treize. He wasn’t asking me to be clear because he wanted to rub my face in my own words. He  _ needed _ to hear them, for all that he was teasing me. Relena probably did too, especially after I had left them.

“I didn’t change my mind about wanting either of you, or both of you,” I said, being as clear as possible.

Duo grinned, and Relena’s lips curved upwards, and they both looked more at ease than they had before - reminding me more of the people I had slept in a pillow nest with on a Brooklyn rooftop a week ago.

“Good, because I’ll be honest, even though I was pissed off to see you, I gotta admit watching you dance in those tights has given me  _ all _ kinds of ideas,” Duo said.

I arched an eyebrow and looked him over. Unlike most of the guests, Duo wasn’t wearing a white shirt with his black suit, but was instead wearing a black shirt and, I was fairly certain, a black tie. I looked at Relena again, at the way her dress was molded to her curves and the hints of skin beneath the gold lace bodice.

“You aren’t the only one with ideas,” I said, and Duo’s smirk grew.

Relena, on the other hand, arched an eyebrow of her own. 

“I’m glad that the two of you are ready to get naked and fall into bed together, but maybe we should take a step back first?”

We looked over at her and waited for her to explain.

“Maybe we should get a drink together? Get to know each other just a little bit more? No offense, but my ego isn’t so amazing that I’ll be able to just shrug it off if you freak out and run away again without an explanation.”

That, I thought, was completely fair.

I nodded. “I’d like that,” I said, meaning it. 

While I had no idea where this was going - if it was going to be a date and then a night of sex, or something more - I found myself  _ hoping _ it could be something more. I wanted them, wanted that night of sex very badly, but just as much, I wanted to spend more time with them. To recapture that sense of freedom from before.

“Yeah,” Duo agreed. “That sounds smart. Um… I’ve got the closing shift every day this week except for Friday, though.”

“I’ll be out by ten at the latest,” Relena said, and looked over at me.

We had technical rehearsals for Sylvia on Monday and Tuesday, with the ballet opening Wednesday and running for the rest of the week. The ballet itself was usually just over two hours, including the intermissions.

“Ten or ten thirty,” I said.

“Okay,” Duo grinned, “I can just meet you guys at Lincoln Center and we can… go from there?”

“Maybe you could give me your number, Trowa?” Relena asked. “Unless you really  _ are _ planning to pull another Cinderella move on us.”

I rolled my eyes and she smirked, just as confident as Duo.

I pulled out my phone and exchanged numbers with both of them, and I didn’t bother to think too much about the almost giddy sensation running through my body as I put my phone away.

They were giving me another chance. I had danced perfectly tonight. And for now, standing beside them and catching the faintest hint of Relena’s perfume, that was enough.

It was more than enough, and a hell of a lot more than I had had since things had ended with Wufei.

 

-o-

 

Important Note: 

 

I have started a Patreon page under the name Clara Barton.

Becoming a Patron not only provides me with encouragement and financial support, but it gives YOU the chance to decide which fics I update next, exclusive one-shots, gift fics and personalized one-shots - as well as the chance to read my work before it gets posted anywhere else.

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	9. Chapter 9

A/N: This grew from a drabble request made by chemicalcrush.

A/N #2: Thanks to Ro for being an amazing beta, and to Maeve, for always being so encouraging.

A/N #3: I am in NO way an expert on ballet or music/orchestral life. I’m an expert on NONE of the careers mentioned - with the exception of Wufei’s, and even then I fully acknowledge he is way too young to have that job - so please just know I’m relying on the internet. If you have any suggestions or expertise to offer, I welcome it.

A/N #4: If you’re ever curious about what these people’s homes look like, check out “Pas de Trois Locations” on my tumblr page, where I have links to actual apartments that are for sale! In case you have several million dollars laying around. In which case, we should talk.

A/N #5: I know, it’s been FOREVER. But I was feeling inspired and actually this is going to take a SLIGHTLY different turn. It’s definitely still going to be a 2x3xR endgame, but there will be more complications than I had initially foreseen.

 

Warnings: language, angst, sexy times

 

Pairings: 2x3xR, 3x5, 3x13, 1x4, 1x6, DxC others will be added as necessary

 

_ Pas de Trois _

Chapter Nine

  
  


Dance companies thrived on pain, drama and gossip. Usually, the three were intimately connected. 

The world of dance was surprisingly small, especially when you considered the fact that the ten most elite dance companies in the world traded choreographers, dancers and tour engagements. Even smaller, though, was the world of the company itself. Between the principals, soloists,  _ corps _ and apprentices, there were nearly ninety dancers in the ABT company. Add in the instructors, costumers, administrative staff, choreographers and trainers, and you had another twenty or thirty.

It was a small army, a village that lived and breathed together, and it was damn near impossible to keep anything a secret.

Idle gossip - which dancer was sleeping with whom this week, which dancer was  _ still _ wrapping their leg after that fall three months ago, which dancer had been wearing sweat pants for almost a month and had  _ definitely _ put on weight - all of that sort of thing was rampant within the company. It was impossible to avoid, and harmless enough, compared to other topics. 

I was used to it, had spent literally my entire life around dancers, listening to them as an outsider for years before becoming a source of gossip myself.

Being used to it, however, was very different from being  _ immune _ to it.

Word of the Sunday evening command performance spread through the company overnight - likely most of the company had known about it beforehand, but simply had had more interesting things to gossip about. 

On Monday morning, Heero and I - and, I noticed, Meilin as well - were greeted with arched eyebrows, whispers and derisive sniffs. 

It was enough to make me roll my eyes, and beside me, Heero looked a little smug as he stretched. We were used to our fellow dancers looking down their noses at us, at being affronted by our very existence and our rapid rise from  _ corps _ to soloists. 

None of that bothered me.

Not even when the looks and whispers continued through the week.

It wasn’t until Wednesday morning’s class, when Treize walked into the room with Kevin McKenzie and the two men sat in folding chairs near the accompanist, however, that I started to find it difficult to focus.

_ What the hell were they doing in this class? Why was Treize here at all? _

McKenzie sat in every once in awhile, and it always put the dancers on edge, always led to nerves and sloppiness and an entire day of anxious dancers ready to snap each other’s heads off. 

But Treize, who  _ should _ be buried in his NYC Ballet rehearsals for their upcoming show, had never sat in on a class before. 

It wasn’t just that he sat there, face and eyes as cold and emotionless as a statue, but his entire focus, for the entire class, was on  _ me _ .

I didn’t like his lingering presence, didn’t like the interruption of the sanctuary that was class and barre work, and even more, I didn’t like the way a majority of the dancers stared at  _ me _ as well. I had his icy glare to contend with from one direction, and the array of company irritation from every other angle. It was agonizing.

I could feel their stares, their ire and anxiety and jealousy like pinpricks along my neck and face, and I knew I was flushed with embarrassment, knew that my fight against my trembling muscles had to be obvious.

I could feel my heart pounding against my sternum, could feel my throat constrict, and at one point, as I took my place to do a grande allegro combination with two other dancers, I had to close my eyes and take a moment to just  _ breathe _ . 

_ Why was he still here? _

I had thought, had hoped, had really,  _ really _ wanted to put Treize from my mind for the next few months - to simply forget he existed until it came time to cast  _ Le Spectre _ . 

I had wanted - I frankly  _ needed - _ to have some time away from his cool, assessing gaze. He looked at me as if he possessed me, as if I was incapable of pleasing him and yet existed merely for him.

As I opened my eyes and prepared to travel across the floor in the series of leaps and assembles, I realized that I would end up kneeling in front of him, one hand extended to him in invitation. 

_ Of course _ .

Part of me considered just stepping out of the line and skipping my turn. But I knew that, even if it saved me from bending a knee to Treize, it would still inspire more gossip from my peers. 

So, I drew in a deep breath, internally counted along with the music, and threw myself into the combination.

I managed it, though it certainly wasn’t my best, certainly didn’t demonstrate my ‘maddening extension’ as Treize put it, but I ended it with a graceful sweep of my arm, my hand inches away from Treize’s crossed legs, staring right into his face.

I tried to bury my desperation as I looked into his eyes, but I know I failed, know it was there on my face and in the deep, shuddering breath I drew.

He simply sneered at me, a small, cruel curl of his lips that made it clear just how little he thought of the performance.

At the end of class, the two men left without a word - not even stopping to speak with Zechs before leaving - and the room practically exploded into speculative chattering.

I grabbed my bag and fled the room, not even waiting for Heero.

He caught up with me before I had managed to leave the building, however, and grabbed my arm.

“What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” I growled, and jerked free.

He stared at me, brow furrowed, studying my face.

“I don’t know,” I repeated, frustrated that my best friend didn’t believe me. “I don’t know why Treize was there or-”

“That’s not what I was asking about.”

I frowned, confused.

“Then what-?”

“You were… flustered.” Heero frowned as he said the word, clearly not happy with it. “I’ve never seen you that close to dancing  _ badly _ .”

That startled a bitter laugh out of me.

I had danced  _ horribly _ loads of times, had been so far from perfect, so far from  _ good _ \- so far from my father or Heero or any of the dancers that I admired. Having Heero say  _ that _ just made the entire morning even worse.

I adjusted my bag and continued out of the building, intent on going to the gym and trying to drown out my anxiety in the pool.

“Trowa. What’s going on?”

Heero, the stubborn asshole, wasn’t going to let this go.

“I don’t know,” I repeated. “I just-”

I just  _ what, _ though? I just needed Treize to stop looking at me? To stop reminding me that I  _ could _ dance better, and yet, I wasn’t? I just needed his approval?

I wasn’t even sure what I wanted, what I felt, when I looked into his cold face anymore.

I had been so irritated by the way he  _ handled _ me on Sunday night, after the performance, showing me off to the room full of ABT donors and balletomanes who had lavished praise on the both of us. I had been irritated, but even so, looking back, I had to admit - Treize had coaxed an amazing performance from me. His cruel negligence, his constant sneer and disappointment, his challenge to dance like I fucked - it had all somehow coalesced to show me the dancer I  _ could _ be. The dancer I  _ wanted _ to be.

And on Monday and Tuesday, I had simply returned to being Trowa, returned to class and rehearsal and felt the gnawing reminder of Treize’s challenge but, largely, had been able to set it aside.

But with him  _ there _ \- I couldn’t. 

I couldn’t do anything but think about what I  _ should _ be doing.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I finished, lamely.

Heero continued to look at me, continued to try to figure out just what was affecting me so deeply, but he didn’t try to get me to speak again.

He fell into step beside me, and silently, we made our way to the gym.

 

-o-

 

The day  _ almost _ got better.

_ Sylvia _ opened that night. As Orion, I would dance in both the A and B companies, and the technical and dress rehearsals on Monday and Tuesday had been long and exhausting. I was looking forward to going home after our workout and actually napping for an hour before heading over to Lincoln Center.

Instead, when I checked my phone after showering and shaving, I saw that I had a missed call and a voicemail from ABT.

Frowning, I checked it while I waited for Heero to finish dressing.

_ “Trowa, this is May from Kevin’s office. He would like to see you this afternoon before you head over to Lincoln Center. I’ve got you on his schedule for 3:30.” _

That… was unusual.

And worrisome, especially after this morning.

I had only ever been called into McKenzie’s office twice - once, during my time as an apprentice to promote me to the  _ corps, _ and then again when I returned from Paris and he summarily promoted me to soloist. 

I seriously doubted I was in line for another promotion.

Not only was it  _ ludicrous _ for a twenty-five year old to become a principal, it was also completely irrational to think that McKenzie would  _ ever _ promote me after such a sloppy performance that morning.

Additionally, the fall season didn’t begin until August - now just wasn’t the time when dancers were promoted.

So, if it wasn’t for anything  _ good _ , it had to be for something very, very bad.

Dancers’ egos were notoriously fickle, and while it often felt like the management really didn’t care about them, I knew that I wouldn’t be called into the Artistic Director’s office on the afternoon before a major ballet opening to be dressed down unless I  _ really _ needed to be dressed down.

Which begged the question: what the fuck had I done?

Had I really been  _ that _ bad in class this morning? Bad enough that I was being pulled and my understudy put into  _ Sylvia _ tonight?

Thirty-two year old Ted, who had had four solos in the four years I had danced for ABT, who was six years older than me and would likely never make soloist. If I was pulled and  _ Ted _ performed on opening night, I honestly didn’t think I would be able to live it down.

This - this was what my father had always warned me about.

“Trowa.”

I pulled myself out of the nightmare and focused on Heero’s voice. It was clear, from the look on his face, that he had been talking to me, had said more than just my name.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, and put my phone away, glancing at the time first.

_ 2:54 _ .

“You look like shit.”

I glanced in the mirror, and he was right. My face was pale, and I could feel the cold prickle of sweat on the back of my neck and my palms.

“I’m fine.”

Heero wasn’t buying it.

“I have to go back by the studio,” I told him as we stepped outside of the gym and he started towards Murray Hill, the opposite direction from the ABT rehearsal studios.

Heero arched an eyebrow.

“Why?”

I had to roll my eyes. There were times when it would be nice to have a best friend who was just a  _ little _ oblivious.

I thought about lying - it was going to be bad enough having to face down the entire company after  _ Ted _ performed my role. I didn’t want to see Heero’s reaction. 

Then again, I didn’t want him to find out from someone else.

“”McKenzie wants to see me. I have a 3:30 meeting with him.”

Heero’s eyes narrowed, and his lips tightened.

I had no doubt that he was doing the same mental calculations I had done after checking the message.

“Call me,” he said, his voice very, very neutral. “After.”

I nodded.

I wished he sounded anything but resigned. Wished he had come up with something positive, or at least mildly optimistic, as the reason for me being called into McKenzie’s office. But it was clear from his tone - or rather,  _ lack _ of tone - and expression that he had come up with the same very negative possibilities as I had.

So I hefted my bag again and turned to walk to what I was sure was my impending doom.

The waiting area outside of McKenzie’s office was in the main thoroughfare of the rehearsal studio, on the second floor, just down the hall from the main rehearsal studio.

It was, I well knew, in full view of  _ everyone _ .

I had seen dancers waiting on the stiff-backed chairs before, had heard company members whisper and question why someone sat there, speculating on a dancer being fired, on being sent to the nutritionist, on being removed from a show.

And now - now  _ I _ was the one on display, the one ripe for whispers.

_ More _ whispers. After the debacle of class that morning, it wasn’t as if anyone in the company needed more reasons to gossip about me.

And yet, as I sat there, as I watched the clock on the wall above May’s desk creep past 3:30 and work its way towards 4:00, I saw dancer after dancer walk past, do a double-take when they recognized me, and scurry away, heads bowed together.

Perfect.

At 4:15, after an  _ hour _ of waiting, I had been subjected to not just the stares of the company members, but the incredulous looks of the  _ students _ , the teenagers who took classes and usually looked at me with near worship.

But even  _ they _ knew that sitting outside of McKenzie’s office wasn’t a good thing.

And then, because of course my day needed to get even more painful, Treize walked by.

He barely glanced at me, instead walking right up to May’s desk and tapping on it impatiently.

The look she shot him was one of pure malice, and I had a very faint, very brief feeling of pleasure at that. 

May picked up her phone and spoke into it, her voice too low for me to hear. After a moment, she placed the receiver down and looked past Treize, to me.

“Trowa, he’s ready for you now.” She cast an indifferent look at Treize. “And you as well.”

Treize was going to be in the meeting?

What the hell had I possibly done to fuck up  _ so _ badly that  _ he _ needed to be here?

I picked my bag up, numb and confused and dreading this even more, and silently followed Treize into McKenzie’s office.

“So glad you could make it,” the elegant man said as he rose from behind his desk.

For a moment, I thought he was speaking to me - the dancer who had been waiting an  _ hour _ \- but then I saw his gaze and tight smile were on Treize.

The blond haired man offered up a careless shrug.

“I was detained.”

Treize didn’t offer any other explanation, and McKenzie gestured for us to sit.

Gingerly, I set my bag down and sat on one of the chairs across from the desk.

Treize, however, lounged on the settee against one wall, bonelessly graceful and casual, sneer in place and cold eyes looking at me with amusement.

“Your performance on Sunday evening was something else,” McKenzie said.

I looked away from Treize and at McKenzie.

“You were there?” I hadn’t noticed him. Then again, I had been entirely focused on trying to find Duo and Relena.

He inclined his head.

“I was. As were some of ABT’s most dedicated patrons. In addition to the Winners, there were a dozen or so other members of our Chairman’s Council level donors in attendance.”

The Chairman’s Council was the highest circle of donors for ABT; you had to give at least $25,000 annually, and  _ most _ of the members gave considerably more than that.

“And  _ you _ were all anyone wanted to talk about afterwards,” Treize added, eyes narrowing a little. “Even after you disappeared, your many  _ fans _ waited for the chance to meet you.”

I flushed at the admonition and derision in his voice, but remained silent. It wasn’t as if saying  _ I ran away from you to go find the two people I abandoned after a one-night stand _ would earn me  _ any _ points.

“In any case,” McKenzie cut in, “you made quite the impression, Trowa. As did your work, Treize. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Treize echoed.

“We haven’t announced the fall season yet,” McKenzie continued. “The board has been deliberating over a few pieces. The political climate being what it is, we want to make sure that ABT remains relevant  _ and _ inclusive for all of our members.”

I had to arch an eyebrow. That was a fine line to walk. We were, of course, in New York City, and most of the ballet’s largest donors were likely to be as liberal as most of the company members themselves. But not  _ all _ of the donors were, and not all of the ballet’s patrons were.

“Sunday evening was not only a chance to celebrate an important event for one of our most prolific donors, but it was a chance for Treize and I to discuss a new piece with several board members and other donors.”

“A new piece?” I echoed, intrigued. 

“Mm. A new full-length ballet. Choreographed by Treize. It’s something he and I have been discussing for years, but the timing hasn’t been quite right, and we’ve been waiting for the right time, for the right dancer.”

They were both looking at me, Treize still with that bored sneer on his face, McKenzie with faint amusement.

It took me a moment.

“ _ Me _ ?”

McKenzie actually chuckled.

“Yes. You.”

I looked between them, convinced I was living in some alternate reality.

“But - you saw me this morning. I was  _ awful _ .”

“On the contrary, while your technique wasn’t up to your usual standards, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you perform with that much emotion - onstage or in a rehearsal,” McKenzie said. He crossed his arms and considered me. “On Sunday, you were remarkable - I had my doubts, before then, but Treize was insistent and he was right. And this morning removed all of my doubts.”

I had to look at Treize.  _ None _ of this was making sense.

He simply arched an eyebrow at me.

“You want  _ me _ for your ballet.” I had to say it, had to try to wrap my head around it.

“Yes,” Treize sighed. “That  _ is _ the entire point of this meeting. Of course, we won’t start rehearsals until late August, after your break ends, but we thought it best to inform you now.”

“Why?” I had to ask. The fall season would be announced in a month, at the opening night gala for  _ Le Corsaire _ . There didn’t seem to be any point in telling  _ me _ about this new piece so far in advance. Even if Treize did want me to star in it.

Treize smirked.

“Because you need to learn how to dance  _ en pointe _ .”

I had been baffled before.

Now, however, I was convinced this was some cruel joke.

As a general rule, male dancers never danced  _ en pointe _ . It had always been the purview of ballerinas to master that tortuous art. Aside from the arguments that male dancers were simply too heavy to balance their weight above their toes, pointe choreography tended to emphasize the feminine. The few times when male dancers  _ did _ perform with pointe shoes, they were typically dancing female parts. 

I thought back to McKenzie’s statement about remaining relevant.

“What  _ is _ the ballet?” I finally thought to ask. It seemed the most subtle way of asking if I was going to be dancing a female role.

Treize’s lips quirked, and some of his disdain melted away as he sat forward.

“It’s called  _ Young God _ . It’s an interpretation of some of the myths surrounding Orestes - his relationship with Pylades, his own madness and grief, his intolerable acts, his confusion and despair upon returning home from a decade of war. Essentially, it is the story of a broken man without an identity, searching for purpose and meaning.”

Treize held my gaze as he spoke, his tone only a degree or two above his usual chilly attitude, but the difference was staggering. It was clear, so very, very clear, that Treize was passionate about this piece, about this story and, impossibly,  _ me _ .

“And Orestes dances the entire piece  _ en pointe _ ?”

Treize shook his head.

“No, only the opening, then a pas de deux with Pylades, and the finale, when he dies. The pointe shoes, the change in movement, will demonstrate how disconnected Orestes is, how uneasy he is with society and how impossible it is for him to feel at home.”

“It sounds…” It sounded exactly like  _ I _ felt every day, and I had to wonder if Treize knew, if he had been able to decipher just how disconnected  _ I _ was from my life. Is that why he wanted me? “It sounds incredible,” I finished.

McKenzie nodded.

“It is - it  _ will _ be. But  _ you _ need to start working immediately with Sally Po to master  _ en pointe _ .”

Sally was one of the instructors for the JKO school, teaching the advanced students as they prepared to graduate and audition for professional companies. She was a few years older than my sister, and had danced with Cathy at the start of Cathy’s career. 

I nodded, feeling my toes reflexively curl. I was  _ not _ looking forward to that, at all. 

“Oh,” Treize added. “You won’t be dancing in  _ Le Spectre _ for the gala, of course.”

He said it entirely off-hand, as if it meant nothing, but the look in his eyes made it clear that he knew it meant a great deal more than  _ nothing _ to me.

We stared at each other for a long, tense moment.

I forced myself to shrug.

“I imagine I would be too busy rehearsing  _ Young God _ to bother with it, anyway.”

McKenzie arched an eyebrow at that, but Treize chuckled and stood.

He brushed non-existent lint from his trousers.

“Most of my time will be spent with the New York City Ballet until August, but I will check in and keep abreast of your progress. After all, if you aren’t capable of learning how to properly dance  _ en pointe, _ then-”

“I’m more than capable. I can master the technique.” I wasn’t sure  _ where _ this show of bravado came from, and I certainly wouldn’t have spoken to  _ any _ other choreographer in that tone, but Treize just smirked and nodded.

I had a sudden thought, as Treize started to leave the office.

“What about the B company? Who will dance Orestes in the B company?”

“We haven’t decided yet. Treize wants to sit in on a few of Zechs’s  _ Le Corsaire _ rehearsals before he makes that decision. It goes without saying, I’m sure, that this is absolutely  _ not _ a subject for you to discuss with any of the other company members. Sally knows, as does Zechs, of course, but I have zero patience for dancers gossiping about the casting for a ballet that won’t premiere until November. Is that clear?”

McKenzie held my gaze, and I nodded.

It wasn’t as if I was the type to sit around and gossip, in any case. Heero was my only real friend in the company, and while I got along with Meilin and Sylvia and a few of the  _ corps _ members, I didn’t really speak to them outside of rehearsals or parties.

But Heero…

I realized that, as much as he  _ wouldn’t _ spread any gossip around, he really didn’t need to know about this.

First, he had been overlooked by Zechs for Conrad while I would perform in the A company, and now  _ this _ . 

I stood up and picked up my bag.

“They’ll wonder why I’m working with Sally,” I had to point out.

“Tell them you’ve been instructed to work on your technique. After this morning, I doubt it will be a challenging lie to sell,” Treize offered.

I wanted to glare at him, but he was right. I had been sloppy. Not as sloppy as  _ some _ of the dancers, but sloppy enough. 

I accepted the criticism with a nod.

“Congratulations,” McKenzie said to me as he gestured towards the door. “And don’t vanish  _ quite _ so quickly tonight after the performance - some of those same donors want to meet you, to see just what they are investing in.”

I nodded, accepting the reprimand.

Treize walked out of McKenzie’s office, and I followed, still trying to absorb just what had happened - and just how very differently I had anticipated the meeting going.

“We’ll have dinner next week,” Treize said, pulling me out of my thoughts, “and I can tell you more about the piece.”

I frowned, trying to think of a way to say no, but it had  _ not _ been a request.

And as much as I absolutely did  _ not _ want to spend time with Treize, I couldn’t help but enjoy the thrill of anticipation. 

A new ballet.

For  _ me _ .

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
